


The Land of Counterpane

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Child Neglect, Chronic Illness, Dyslexia, Hospitalization, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Self-Esteem Issues, Vomiting, background non binary character, diarrhoea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Arthur lies in bed, recovering, Merlin comes in and finds him. Their friendship starts there, and continues and grows for the following years. Merlin, upon finding Arthur, begins to tell him stories. These stories are read from books, but mostly they come from Merlin's imagination and as Merlin and Arthur's world expands, so does the story, weaving through their lives and friendships. </p><p>Thanks to my amazing beta, untiltimeends (untiltimeends.livejournal.com), for reading and re-reading and proofing and making suggestions. All remaining mistakes are my own.</p><p>For the Merlin Reverse Big Bang Challange (merlinreversebb.livejournal.com)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Candymacaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candymacaron/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Art: Once Upon a Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622529) by [Candymacaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candymacaron/pseuds/Candymacaron). 



> WARNINGS FOR ENTIRE FIC: vomiting, vomiting on someone, diarrhoea (nothing too graphic for either, just mentioned), chronic illness, self esteem issues, equating dyslexia with stupidity (a character does this, I do not think this), Arthur insists on thinking that Merlin's dating a sixteen year old, when Merlin's about twenty/twenty one. The person in question is actually twenty, but Arthur makes two comment, high fevers, child neglect, loneliness, hospitalization, thinking asexual means broken, story in a story character death, fear of abandonment, explicit talk of sexual acts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: vomiting, vomiting on someone, diarrhoea, chronic illness, child neglect (kind of seen in the way Uther treats Arthur).

 

“When I was sick and lay a-bed,  
I had two pillows at my head,  
And all my toys beside me lay  
To keep me happy all the day.  
  
And sometimes for an hour or so  
I watched my leaden soldiers go,  
With different uniforms and drills,  
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;  
  
And sometimes sent my ships in fleets  
All up and down among the sheets;  
Or brought my trees and houses out,  
And planted cities all about.  
  
I was the giant great and still  
That sits upon the pillow-hill,  
And sees before him, dale and plain,  
The pleasant land of counterpane.”

-Robert Louis Stevenson, _The Land of Counterpane_

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Arthur lies, examining the crack on his ceiling. It’s familiar to him, the shadow, the depth, the indent. Outside the room there are lunchtime sounds. The bread bin rolling open, the fridge door thudding, the sound of a knife on a shopping board. Sandwiches. And the hiss and pop of the gas being lit. Arthur explores the sore ulcers in his mouth with his tongue. They're healing, but they're still sore enough that he's not going to be getting a sandwich. Soup, for him.

In the kitchen, there's humming — the new help, Hunith, recognisable by now. The floor outside the bedroom door creaks, someone stopping there, shifting. Then the handle turns down and the door opens slowly. Arthur watches. When the door finally swings all the way in, it reveals Merlin, mud on his knees, peering curiously inside. Merlin ventures into the room and wanders around, looking at all Arthur's things. He comes to a stop by the bed and looks at Arthur. Arthur looks right back.

 

“Hullo,” Merlin says. “I'm Merlin. Why are you sleeping?”

 

“I'm tired,” Arthur says, blinking at Merlin.

 

“Oh. Why are you in the dark? Shall I open the curtains for you?”

 

“No. The dark is so I can sleep. The light makes my head hurt.”

 

“Okay. Are you sick? I sleep with the curtains shut when I'm sick, in the day time.”

 

“I was sick. I'm better now.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Merlin looks around again, at the big armchair, the desk. At the plastic toy people, the box of Legos. He heads over to Arthur's bookshelf and plops down on the floor, touching the glossy spines. They're all sorts of colours, all of them looking new and shiny. Merlin's books are not like this. He does have some new shiny ones but not this many.

 

“Shall I read to you?” Merlin asks. “These are books. I have some, too.”

 

“All right,” Arthur says.

 

Merlin pulls a book off the shelf at random. He mutters about the blue colour on the front, running his fingers over the smattering of silver bits, and nods decisively, going back over to the bed. He stands, setting the book on the cover by Arthur's knee.

 

“Have you read this one?” Merlin asks.

 

“No,” Arthur says.

 

It's one of the new ones his father got him for when his head stops hurting and he can read again.

 

“Okay, I'll start at the very start then,” Merlin says, opening the pages.

 

Arthur notices that he starts at the page where the author writes nice things about the people who helped write the book, but he doesn't point it out. Merlin clears his throat and frowns at the page. Then he turns over two more.

 

“Ah, here we are. This is a good one. What's your name?”

 

“Arthur.”

 

“This is a good one, Arthur. I know this one. Okay. There was once a king called Vortigern. He was a really important king and was king of lots of lands. He wanted everyone to know how important he was, and so he planned to build himself a fortified castle on the top of the highest hill so everyone all around would be able to see him and know he was important.”

 

Arthur says, “I don't think that's the story in that book.”

 

Merlin turns the page, licking his finger but still accidentally turning two, ignoring Arthur’s question. Arthur watches.

 

“Okay. So, Vortigern set about measuring all the hills in his lands. He send out knights to do it, that's how important he was. He didn't have to measure his own hills. They used, um, they used tape measures. Sir William found the tallest hill and rode back as fast as he could to tell Vortigern.”

 

Merlin licks his finger again and turns the page. Arthur turns onto his side so he can watch better.

 

“Vortigern set about building his castle, and he built it really fast — in a single day it went up. That's how important he was. But then, the next morning, the castle was gone!”

 

Merlin covers his mouth and looks at Arthur with wide eyes over his hand.

 

“This happened lots and lots of times. Each time, Vortigern built more and more good foundations, but it always vanished. So, he sent out his knights to find the wisest man. Sir William found him, wandering in a neighbouring kingdom. His name was Merlin, like mine, and he was a magician. I can't do magic tricks _yet_ , but my uncle promises to teach me. I'll show you one day, okay?”

 

“Kay,” Arthur says.

 

Merlin looks around and notices the book where it's slid, pages turning. He picks it up and flicks through, making a sound when he finds the right place.

 

“Merlin comes to help with the castle building. He examines Vortigern's hill, and when he's done he suggests Vortigern build somewhere else. Vortigern explains about the measuring tapes, though. So Merlin tells him to build again and stay the night. When night comes, there's a rumble, and the hill shakes and shivers, and castle falls down. The hill opens up! Wide open. Cracking like an egg. And inside there are two dragons.”

 

Arthur yawns. Merlin turns a couple of pages.

 

“They're fighting. A red one, a white one. Fire and teeth, and Vortigern's men run away. Vortigern and Merlin stay, though, and watch. And Merlin tells about the dragon of England and the dragon of Wales. I'm from Wales, Arthur, so I'm the red dragon. You can be the white because you're English.”

 

“My mother was French,” Arthur says.

 

“Oh. There isn't a French dragon, though, so you have to be the white one.”

 

“Merlin!”

 

Merlin startles, and the book goes flying off the bed. Hunith's standing in the doorway with a tray, glaring at the boy. Merlin slides a guilty look Arthur's way.

 

“Um,” Merlin says.

 

“I told you to stay in the garden to play,” Hunith says, stern.

 

“I was looking around,” Merlin says, “and I found this boy. Look, Mum, he's here. He's Arthur, and his Mum's French, and he's sick but getting better, and he has the curtains closed to stop his head hurting, and I was reading him a story.”

 

“That's very nice of you Merlin, but I don't know if Arthur wanted a story.”

 

“I asked,” Merlin says, nodding earnestly, and turns back to look at Arthur. “Didn't I ask, Arthur?”

 

Arthur doesn't answer. He doesn't want to get in trouble; he wants his soup. Merlin scowls at him.”

 

“Come on, Merlin, out you come. Sit in the kitchen until I finish up here, okay?” Hunith says, chivvying Merlin out of the room.

 

Merlin goes with ill grace, sending a last scowl Arthur's way before vanishing. Arthur can hear him stamping in the kitchen. Hunith comes over to the bed and sets the tray on the side table.

 

“Do you need help, love?” Hunith asks as Arthur sits slowly up, resting against the pillows.

 

“No, thank you,” Arthur says, politely.

 

Hunith sets the tray across his knees and then leaves him to it. Arthur listens to Merlin the rest of the afternoon, but he doesn't come back into the room. Hunith brings Arthur supper as well, and then she leaves. Arthur listens to her cleaning up in the kitchen and talking quietly to Merlin (“I can read, Mum, I _can,_ right?' 'You're getting there, my love. Take your time”), and then he hears the back door snick quietly shut and the house settles around him, silent and still.

 

When his father's not home Arthur's looked after by one of two people. His mother's brother, Agravain, who Arthur does not like at all, or Gorlois, his father's friend. It used to be Vivienne, but then she died, and Gorlois quit his job to look after his daughter. Arthur doesn't mind Gorlois, but he doesn't like Morgana much, and Gorlois brings her along. Agravain just sits in the living room or noses around Uther's office, but Gorlois sits with Arthur, and if Arthur's well enough, he carries him through to the living room or out into the garden when it's warm.

 

Arthur's in the armchair by his bedroom window, a blanket around his shoulders, beating Morgana soundly at Snakes and Ladders when Merlin comes poking around again. Morgana's little green plastic piece is clutched in her pudgy fist, her face crumpling up in dismay as Arthur tries to make her land on the long snake, which is where she's meant to land.

 

“You have to put it down, stupid,” Arthur says, frustration getting the best of him.

 

Morgana's face goes from crumpled to stubborn, and Arthur, in a practise long learnt, slides out of the chair to dodge the little plastic game piece. Morgana yells in anger and upturns the board, and that's when Arthur notices Merlin, standing between the door and their table. Arthur notices him because a dice hits him in the head, and he says “ow.” Merlin rubs his ear where it hit and watches Morgana in fascination, her wild hair and flying fists and enthusiastic anger enrapturing him.

 

“I hate you, Arthur Pendragon!” Morgana shouts, shoving Merlin and storming out.

 

Arthur gets back into the chair and grins at Merlin.

 

“Uncle Gor's going to make her come back and tidy up,” Arthur tells Merlin.

 

“Who _was_ that?” Merlin says, gazing after Morgana, sounding far too awed for Arthur's liking.

 

“That's Morgana. She's stupid, and she's small. She's only six.”

 

“She was awesome,” Merlin says, coming over, picking up the board and pieces. “Is she always like that?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur snaps, crossing his arms and looking out of the window.

 

Merlin takes Morgana's seat and sets up the board again. He passes Arthur the dice and smiles invitingly, so Arthur throws and starts the game off. Gorlois comes through halfway in and looks around.

 

“Oh, hello, Merlin. You found your way in here, hm? Your mum's after you, you know,” Gor says.

 

“I know,” Merlin replies with blithe disregard for his mother's search.

 

Arthur admires that. He moves his piece onto the ladder and slides up. He sits back, his head against the chair wings. He droops. Merlin watches, confused, as Arthur seems to fall asleep.

 

“Arthur?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“He's just tired, Merlin. He's still recovering from his last bout. Come on, darlin', back to bed.”

 

Gorlois lifts him, scooping him up in strong arms without any trouble, and carries him back, blanket and all, to the bed. Merlin follows and watches as Gorlois tucks him in and moves around shutting the curtains.

 

“All right, Merlin, let's go find your Mum.”

 

They leave, and Arthur dozes, but can't get to sleep properly. He listens to Morgana having a tantrum, Gorlois's big, rumbly voice a soft undertone. Merlin's laughing in the kitchen and Hunith's making bread. Merlin quiets, and Hunith starts singing. The door creaks open, and Merlin tiptoes in.

 

“Do you want me to read some more?” Merlin asks, whispering into the dim room.

 

“Don't you want to go play with _Morgana_? You said she was awesome,” Arthur grumps.

 

“No, I played with her.”

 

“Kay,” Arthur says, grudgingly. “You did play snakes with me, so okay. You can tell more of the story.”

 

Merlin gets the same blue book as before and perches on the edge of the bed, paging through until he finds the right one, the one with loads of writing.

 

“Okay,” Merlin says, “so Vortigern had just seen those dragons.”

 

Arthur soon discovers that Merlin has a rich store of myths and legends, ranging from Arthurian to Gaelic to Greek, and he rolls them out for Arthur. Merlin draws on stories his mother's told him over and over, and from the books he gets from the library, and from storytelling events Hunith takes him to, and from everywhere and anywhere. He devours stories, and having a rapt audience to retell them to is great- he can be like one of the storytellers, bringing everything to life.

 

By the time Arthur's better and back at school, he's spent enough time with Merlin that when he sees the familiar ears on the playground, he goes and invites Merlin to sit with him and his friends for lunch. He cajoles Merlin into making up a story about them all, and the footie lads adopt Merlin as a team mascot before the end of the week.

 

The next time Arthur's ill, Uther can't get either Gorlois (in France on a family holiday) or Agravain (“I'm so sorry, Uther, I'm just swamped”) to come care for him. Uther does it for a day, soothing Arthur's fever-dreams, wiping up the random tears that come with the delirium, cleaning up vomit and sweat. But halfway through the second day, he storms into the kitchen where Hunith is working.

 

“Mrs. Powell, I would like to expand your duties and offer you a pay rise,” he says.

 

Hunith nods carefully, and half an hour later when Arthur throws up again, it's Hunith sitting with him, holding the bowl under his chin, wiping away his tears. Once Uther's dealt with that “disaster,” he leaves them to it, and he never knows that Arthur cries out for him or that Arthur's tears are partly because it had been soothing to have his father close.

 

Hunith is perfectly capable, though, and she's caring. And once Arthur's on the mend, fever down and vomiting rare, she lets Merlin come and curl up with him while she does the rest of her work. The first day, Arthur's too tired to do anything except sleep and sweat out the fever, so Merlin tells him stories about the stars, pointing at the ceiling to show Arthur where to look when the sky’s above him.

 

Merlin’s only allowed to stay with Arthur for half an hour because Arthur’s supposed to be resting. Merlin slips back in, though, tiptoeing into the now-darkened room. Arthur’s curled up under the cover, but he’s not sleeping. Merlin sits on the floor by Arthur’s head, cross-legged, head tilted.

 

“Mum says you’re too sick for stories,” Merlin says. “Is that true?”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur whispers, “too tired.”

 

“Oh. You’re always sick.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Why?”

 

Arthur wakes up a little, and he carefully sits up a bit on his pillows.

 

“I have Hyperimmunoglobinemia D syndrome,” Arthur says, proudly.

 

“Huh,” Merlin says, “I thought it was probably something like that.”

 

“You don’t even know what it means,” Arthur says.

 

“It’s a sickness,” Merlin says breezily. “HD, like that person my Mum reads. Poems. Uh-huh, that’s it.”

 

“No it’s not,” Arthur says, lying down again and curling in on himself.

 

“Does HD hurt?” Merlin asks, getting up on his knees, elbows on the mattress.

 

“HIDS,” Arthur says, “you can call it that.”

 

“Uh-huh, yeah, that’s another way to call it. HIDS. I suppose it _is_ more common.”

 

“And, yeah, it hurts. I’m tired.”

 

“Story?”

 

“I want to sleep,” Arthur says and presses his face into his pillow to hide tears.

 

Merlin pats Arthur’s hair and sits quietly, trying to remember the long words, sometimes whispering to try them out.

 

The next day when Merlin comes into the room, Arthur's sitting up against a fort of pillows, listless but mostly awake. Arthur grins when Merlin pokes his head in, and he holds up a book he was trying to read. This one has a turquoise cover, and Merlin climbs up onto the bed and takes it, examining it carefully. It has a picture of children on the front, and inside the letters are big and blocky. Merlin nods and turns to chapter one.

 

“This one,” he tells Arthur, “is about a man called Robin Hood.”

 

Arthur laughs, because the book is “The Children of Noisy Village” and definitely not about Robin Hood. Merlin looks at the front cover again and nods.

 

“I know, I know, it doesn't look like Robin Hood, right?”

 

“It's not Robin Hood! Can't you read the title? You really can't! You actually can't read.”

 

“Except, this is the secret stories, the ones no one else knows,” Merlin says, ignoring Arthur's interruption.

 

Arthur's intrigued by that so he stops himself laughing and pays attention. Merlin gives him a very serious look and starts in on the story of Robin Hood, Little John, and the dragon who lives in the caves, sitting on a pile of treasure.

 

When Merlin comes the next day Arthur shows him the model dragon he has and the knight, and they turn the duvet into a landscape of hills, and the knight and Iron Man (Merlin points out that Tony Stark wears armour, just like a knight) search for the dragon as Merlin tells the story of Sir Arthur and Merlin the wizard.

 

 

Merlin brings school work with him sometimes, and Arthur has to catch up with that once he can focus again, but Merlin still comes, and he even helps with some of it, so it's not so bad. One of the homeworks is to write about a weekend, so Arthur makes up a quest that he and Merlin went on and writes that out. Otherwise he'd have to write about lying in bed, sweating, which Merlin says is boring. Arthur suggests Merlin read that story out loud, but Merlin insults Arthur's handwriting and refuses to even try.

 

It takes Arthur a week, this time, to recover, and even then he's weak. Merlin stays close to him at school, and Arthur gets cross and shouts at him about not being a mother, and they have their first fight in the middle of a maths class. Merlin bursts into tears and runs out, unable to keep himself together in front of the audience at the same time as shouting and being shouted at. He runs to the nurse, Alice.

 

“Hello, Merlin. Oh dear, what happened? Come on, never mind. Have a seat up here with me, let's get you some tissues.”

 

Alice gives out cuddles when you go to her crying, and Merlin really likes her hugs, so he makes sure to keep on going until she gives him one. Sometimes she even takes you back, behind the little office, into the room with the bed, but not usually if you're just crying. Merlin stops crying and tells her about Arthur being horrible to him and how he was just trying to make sure he didn't have to go back home and how it's not fair, and then he cries again. Alice explains that Arthur probably would prefer a friend than a nursemaid, though she doesn't put it quite like that.

 

She watches Merlin sniffle his way through a lollipop and a packet of tissues, assessing. She decides to tell him that he can be caring and look after Arthur, but he has to realise that Arthur might not want to feel like he needs looking after.

 

“Arthur's ill a lot,” Alice says. “He probably feels tired of being an invalid. When you look after him like this, it makes him into one. He knows that he's going to be sick again in the future, and he probably wants to make the most of the times when he can be ... well, not sick.”

 

“But he didn't have to shout at me,” Merlin says, lip sticking out stubbornly.

 

Alice smothers her laughter and the urge to bundle Merlin up in another hug. He's one of her cuter kids, with the big ears and the big eyes and such a crooked, beaming smile when he chooses. He's also one of the sweetest kids, always bringing her scraped knees and bruises, sitting with whoever's hurt while she sorts them.

 

“No, he didn't need to shout. I just want you to understand why he might have shouted. I'm not trying to tell you that what he did was right.”

 

“Oh,” Merlin says, looking sadly at his lolly stick and then up at her, hopefully.

 

“No more,” she says, “you'll rot your teeth. Now, why don't you sit in here until break, have a bit of a rest from your friends? There are some books on the shelf, and you can sit up here with me while I do paperwork.”

 

Merlin has a look at the bookshelf. They're mostly picture books and he feels, at seven, that he's a little old for such things. He finds one chapter book, a Roald Dahl with a nice picture and a yellow cover, which he chooses. He sits up with Alice and runs his finger over the words, deciphering the letters and making up the story from the pictures inside.

 

When the bell goes, Merlin stops reading and listens to the thunder of feet, the loud shouting of the older kids, the wailing of a little kid who probably fell over. Someone comes in with a scraped knee, and Merlin sits with her and shows her the pictures in the book while Alice puts on a plaster.

 

Arthur, correctly guessing Merlin's whereabouts, comes striding in with maths homework for him. He bites his lip and shuffles his feet until the girl with the scraped knee has a plaster firmly in place, her tears turning into hiccups. Arthur sneaks around behind Alice while she's busy and inches open her drawer, plucking three lollies from the stash. He pockets two and slips the third into the girl's hand as she leaves.

 

“Arthur Pendragon,” Alice says, turning on him, “those lollies are not yours to give out.”

 

Arthur pretends contrition, and Alice lets him get away with the two in his pocket, assuming one is for Merlin. She watches Arthur shuffle about in front of Merlin and not quite apologise, until Merlin gets over his confusion and sulk and accepts the apology Arthur almost gave. They leave thick as thieves, and Alice watches from the door as Arthur hands over the lolly in great excitement. Merlin giggles and sticks it in his mouth, patting Arthur's shoulder in thanks.

 

Arthur gets three months without illness this time, and he and Merlin get used to fighting. Arthur gets pretty good at apologising without actually having to apologise, and Alice's stock of lollies sometimes mysteriously gets smaller. One day, though, Merlin comes in holding Arthur's arm, looking worried. Arthur's face is pink from embarrassment, and he's crying, holding his stomach. He's trying to keep it secret from Merlin that he didn't just really need the bathroom when he bolted from class.

 

“Hello, Arthur,” Alice says, “what happened? Come sit on the bed and let's see what we can do.”

 

Alice and Merlin nudge Arthur towards the bed, to door between the two rooms wide open. Arthur shakes his head emphatically, and his eyes go wide with worry. Merlin tries to make him sit, but Arthur refuses. Merlin looks imploringly at Alice.

 

“He won't say what's the matter. He went to the toilet, and we have to go in twos so I went with him, and then he was just crying, and so I brought him here, but he won't say why he's crying,” Merlin says, still holding onto Arthur's arm.

 

“Ah,” Alice says, frowning, “I see. Merlin, would you please wait in the office for a bit? You can have a lolly and read a book. Or you may go back to class, if you'd prefer.”

 

“I'll wait,” Merlin says, and retreats to the outer office.

 

Alice shuts the door and then moves around the room, finding the spare set of clothes she has for Arthur, and a towel.

 

“If you need the bathroom, you know where it is,” Alice says. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

 

Arthur shakes his head, taking the things she hands him and retreating to the small bathroom. Alice puts a new plastic cover on the bed and sets it up so Arthur can lie comfortably. Arthur cleans himself, wiping the mess off his legs, scrunching up his dirty underwear and trousers and putting them in the plastic bag Alice gave him.

 

Merlin's allowed in briefly to see him, and he lies on the bed with him and hugs him. Alice allows Merlin to stay while she makes the phone call to Gorlois after checking the list to see who's on call this week for Arthur, but then she makes him go back to class.

 

“What's the matter with him?” Merlin asks, worry radiating off him. “Is it really bad? He keeps on crying. Arthur never cries.”

 

“He's fine, Merlin. It's just a bit of an embarrassing symptom,” Alice says.

 

Merlin frowns, thinking that over. Then his eyes widen.

 

“He has diarrhoea?” Merlin whispers, “Oh no, he had an accident. That happened to me in nursery once. Poor Arthur!”

 

Merlin tries to go back into the room, but Alice stops him.

 

“You'll see him later, and you can tell him it's okay then. Right now Arthur needs some rest, and he needs some time to be a bit less embarrassed.”

 

Merlin goes back to class and sets about making up really, really excellent stories for Arthur.

 

This time, during the first days of fever and stomach problems, Arthur wants nothing to do with Merlin. He doesn't like anyone except Gorlois coming into his room and hides under the covers when Morgana or Merlin or Hunith come in. Merlin's left no choice but to play with Morgana instead. When Arthur finally lets him in, Merlin scrambles into the bed and wraps his arms around Arthur.

 

“It's okay,” Merlin says. “That happened to me once, too. Next time you can just tell me and don't have to cry, okay?”

 

Arthur blushes bright red and tries to shove Merlin away, but Merlin clings on.

 

“Get off,” Arthur says.

 

“Nope. I'm cuddling you. You have to submit to the mighty Cuddler Merlin.”

 

“Just... don't squeeze,” Arthur says, cautiously.

 

They lie still for a moment, then Merlin starts to giggle, and it's infectious. Arthur's stomach's still too sore to really laugh.

 

“I'll squeeze it all out,” Merlin whispers, tightening his arms just a little and giggling some more, “like a Play-doh machine.”

 

Arthur laughs, holding onto his middle, pressing his forehead into the pillow.

 

“Stop,” he says. “Just, get on with the story.”

 

“Okay. So Robin Hood has just met the red and white dragons, and Merlin's worried that he'll wake them. Vortigern is dead—”

 

“Yeah, Zeus got him.”

 

“And Cuchulain got Zeus. Oisin took Maid Marion to Tír na nÓg to gather troops, and King Arthur had gone to look for his knights. Who shall we follow today?”

 

“Tell me about Sir Lancelot,” Arthur murmurs. “I like Sir Lancelot.”

 

“Right,” Merlin says, “because he's the best of the knights. He's my favourite, too, even though he never gets the grail. Sir Lancelot, when we left him, was sunning himself on the top of Lady Elaine's castle, and they were eating strawberries and just getting to be best friends when there was a great knocking on the front door. A knocking that shook the castle from its foundations to his tallest tower.”

 

Merlin tells the story of how Lancelot defeats the giant with the aid of a mysterious knight, who unmasks himself as Arthur only once the giant is defeated and Elaine's lands saved. Elaine wants Lancelot to stay, but he says he cannot, as his king has called him and has need of him. He promises to return one day, but he must ride away. Lancelot's just galloped away from the castle, leaving Elaine sorrowful and weeping, when Arthur throws up all over him.

 

“Oh,” Merlin says.

 

Arthur gasps for breath, then throws up again. Merlin gets out of bed and goes to get Gorlois, calling for Hunith, too. Arthur gets sick a lot that week, and Merlin gets vomited on twice more before his stomach settles. And then it turns out that Arthur had a bug, not just HIDS symptoms, and Merlin gets the bug and gets Arthur back by throwing up on him.

 

It's in the middle of a game of knight vs. dragon, they're kneeling on the bed opposite one another, Arthur voicing the dragon. Arthur leans forwards, and Merlin opens his mouth to be the knight, then throws up all over Arthur. It gets in his hair and everything. Merlin bursts into tears as more and more comes up, all over Arthur's bed, and Arthur has to go get Hunith, appearing in the kitchen covered in vomit.

 

Hunith and Gorlois, when the boys are both asleep in Arthur's bed (a plastic bowl at Merlin's side), laugh about it, laugh about how friends that throw up together stay together. Gorlois decides that Merlin better stay away from Arthur until he's not infectious, though, and Hunith takes him home while he's asleep. Morgana's also sent away to her cousin Morgause.

Arthur's resting on the sofa in the living room while Gorlois does some freelance consulting work at the coffee table, the TV tuned to endless cartoons. He asks where everyone is, listless and tired.

 

“Merlin's at home, Morgana's with Morgause. Merlin has the bug, and Morgana probably does, too, so you're quarantined, darling.”

 

“I'm gonna be so bored, Gor,” Arthur says, sadly.

 

It's only two days before Merlin's allowed back, but Arthur exhausts his collection of DVDs, gets fed up with TV, tired of the internet and has resorted to actually reading books. Merlin comes back in his pyjamas with a stuffed toy rabbit and climbs into bed with Arthur.

 

“You need to tell me a story this time,” Merlin says. “I was sick.”

 

“I know. You puked all over me,” Arthur reminds him.

 

“Oh, yeah.”

 

Arthur gets the “Pure Dead” books off the shelves and over the next week they work their way through, Arthur reading out loud (“because, _Mer_ lin, _I_ know how to read”). Technically they're well enough to go back to school, but the bug's doing the rounds, so Arthur can't go in, and Hunith decides Merlin could use the break as well. On Sunday night, Merlin's allowed to sleep over, and he pulls out a red book to prove that he can read. Merlin tells the story of how Sir Lancelot comes to Camelot, and Arthur dreams of knights in shining armour and billowing red cloaks — of a place where monsters are real.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet Gwaine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Equating dyslexia to stupidity, chronic illness

It's only six weeks before Arthur's fever sets in again, and this time it happens on a Monday so there's a whole week where Merlin's at school. The fever's a high one and burns through Arthur in two days, leaving him weak, unable to do anything and bored. There's a new boy at school, and Merlin's excited to discover that his name is Gwaine, like Sir Gawaine from the stories but spelt differently. Merlin seeks him out, and before the day is done they've got into trouble by skipping class to try and get up on the roof.

 

Gwaine, it turns out, is very good at getting into trouble. Merlin embraces his bad side and joins him wholeheartedly in his exploits, spending more time in detention in a week than he ever has before. It's a whirlwind of excitement and glory. On Friday, he trails up to the Pendragons’, flushed with his week of unadulterated joy.

 

When Merlin walks into Arthur's bedroom for the first time in a week, Arthur, still burnt out from the fever, bored from being almost entirely alone with only Hunith to keep him company and only when she doesn’t have other work, lets his anger and frustration out and shouts and yells at Merlin until Merlin shouts back.

 

“I'm not your servant, Arthur Pendra-poo! I can do what I like! I'm not bound to you! You great, big, ugly toad!”

 

“Get out get out get _out_!”

 

The shouting brings Uther, and Arthur's thrown pillow lands at his father’s feet, the book that follows the pillow hitting his shoulder. Arthur and Merlin freeze when they notice him there, and both go very, very quiet and still.

 

“If you two are quite finished,” Uther says, icy with anger, “I am attempting to get work done, so I can put food on the table for you. Keep it down.”

 

Uther leaves again, shutting the door with a quiet snick. Arthur subsides into sulky silence, and Merlin sits on the pillow-missile, letting out a shaky breath.

 

“I thought he was gonna pick me up and eat me,” Merlin admits.

 

“Don't be stupid,” Arthur snaps. “He doesn't eat people.”

 

“I was gonna offer to read, but I don't think I will, now.”

 

“Who cares? You can't even read — you just make it all up anyway.”

 

“I can too read.”

 

“Prove it.”

 

Merlin refuses, but in the end he has no choice. Arthur opens the book he threw and points to a random paragraph. Merlin tries, he really does, but the letters jumble up, and he stumbles on half the words. Arthur scoffs at him, and Merlin, in a fit of embarrassed anger, hits him with the book.

 

“I'm going to tell my father what you did,” Arthur says, as icy as Uther had been, and Merlin runs.

 

Merlin goes to his mother in the kitchen and refuses to tell her why he's not playing with Arthur. Hunith does her cleaning around the house, leaving Merlin to get the sulking out of his system so he's ready to talk to her. It's not until she's starting things going for dinner that Merlin unwinds from the corner where he's curled up with a yoghurt pot from Hunith’s bag and a magazine.

 

“Am I stupid, Mum?” he asks her, coming to stand beside her where she’s chopping the vegetables for Arthur’s soup.

 

“No love, of course you aren’t. Who told you that?”

 

“No one.”

 

“Well, you’re not. You’re wonderful.”

 

“But I can’t read. Everyone else at school can, now. It’s just me.”

 

“You can read — you’re just a little slower at it.”

 

“I’m stupid. I know it. The words just don’t go right.”

 

Hunith sighs, dumps the vegetables into the lightly simmering stock, scoops Merlin up and sits him on the table so they’re eye to eye.

 

“You listen to me, young man,” Hunith says, stroking the hair out of Merlin’s face. “You are not stupid. Do you remember how we talked about what dyslexia was and how you’d be a bit behind sometimes?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“The reading is part of that, Merlin. It’s not stupidity. Dyslexia means that the words are harder to decipher for you. That’s why you have lessons with Miss Clark. It’s not stupidity.”

 

“I knew that,” Merlin says, soft and unsure.

 

“I know you did. Did Arthur say something?”

 

“No. I just forgot.”

 

Merlin slides off the table and sneaks back into Arthur’s room. Arthur glares at him, but he doesn’t send him out . The two stare at one another.

 

“I’m not stupid,” Merlin says. “I’m dilessic. That’s why I can’t read, not me. And, also, I can read, only I can read slowly.”

 

Merlin nods and looks expectantly at Arthur.

 

“It’s called dyslexic, you idiot,” Arthur snaps, “and you still can’t read and lied about it, and that is stupid! And you got into trouble at school, and you threw a book at me, and that’s stupid! And this Gwaine character, he’s probably stupid, too. So, you are stupid, actually. And you can’t read. And I don’t like your stories.”

 

Merlin knots his hands together and tries again to explain about the dyslexia, but Arthur turns over and refuses to listen. Merlin goes back into the kitchen and clings to his mother, but he refuses to cry.

 

“I won’t cry for stupid Arthur Pendrapoo,” he tells his mother.

 

Arthur’s sick for another week, and he gets bored after the first day. Once he’s allowed up, he seeks out Merlin, hearing him around the house. Gorlois and Morgana are looking after him for once instead of Hunith, but Merlin still comes after school. Arthur finds him and Morgana in the garden, but they pretend they can’t hear him when he talks to them. So he puts mud in Morgana’s hair and goes to bed again.

 

Gor suggests apologising to Merlin and explains why Arthur should apologise, and Arthur attempts it, the way he’s got used to apologising. He gives Merlin lollies and says nice things about Hunith and even picks Merlin a flower, but Merlin still won’t talk to him.

 

The week after the big fight is half term, and Hunith has all seven days off work, so she takes Merlin up to visit with his uncle Gaius, who spoils Merlin and takes him to the fair and the zoo and the swimming pool. Arthur mopes around at home. When school starts, Arthur's off sick to keep a small fever at bay, and Merlin doesn't see him for three more days. When Arthur finally comes back, he finds Merlin sitting with Gwaine at lunch and tries to hit Gwaine.

 

Ten minutes later, the two boys are pulled apart by teachers and dragged to Alice's nurse station, Merlin bringing up the rear in big, noisy tears. Alice sighs when the three boys are left with her. She gives Merlin a blanket and a lollipop and Gwaine tissues for his bleeding nose, and then she looks at Arthur, who's sat in grim silence, chest heaving, eyes burning with anger. He makes a sudden lunge at Gwaine, and Alice has to grab him.

 

“Arthur Pendragon,” she says, softly, carefully, “if you don't stop that, I'm not going to be particularly forgiving.”

 

Arthur stills in her grasp, sends Gwaine a last venomousness look, then schools his face to be blank.

 

“He stole my Merlin,” Arthur tells her, sucking blood off his lip.

 

Merlin and Gwaine exchange a stunned look over Arthur, and Gwaine pulls the tissues away from his nose.

 

“You broke my nose,” Gwaine says, “because of stupid jealousy? Who is this idiot, Merlin?”

 

“I am Arthur,” Arthur says, “and I'm glad I broke your nose. It's too big.”

 

“Sometimes I wish it was legal to smack you round the head,” Alice tells Arthur. “Sit still. Are you hurt anywhere?”

 

“No,” Arthur says, “I was winning.”

 

“I bust his lip and kneed him in the balls,” Gwaine tells her proudly. “I'd say you should check them, but they're probably just tiny ones.”

 

“Let me see your nose, Gwaine,” Alice says.

 

She checks to see if it's actually broken (it's not) and then gives him a flannel and points him to the sink. She turns her attention to Merlin, who seems happy enough with his lolly.

 

“What about you, Merlin? Are you hurt?”

 

“Nope,” Merlin says. “Arthur didn't hit me. He's stupid, but not that stupid. He knows I'd win in a fight.”

 

Arthur doesn't deny it, which makes Alice turn her attention to him instead. He's still blank faced, staring at the wall.

 

“Arthur?” Alice says, touching his cheek to get his attention. “What happened?”

 

“It's not fair,” Arthur whispers, looking up at her, blinking. “He can't have Merlin.”

 

“That's not how friendship works,” Alice says.

 

“Gwaine will win,” Arthur whispers, “I can't do all the things he can. He doesn't have to spend lots of time at home. He doesn't have to stay in bed all the time. If Merlin doesn't come see me, then I'll probably never see him, and Gwaine will win.”

 

“I will win, yes,” Gwaine says, catching the end. “I always win.”

 

Arthur sits back, tucks up his knees and carefully blanks himself. Merlin swings his legs and kicks his feet.

 

“Do you want a lolly, Gwaine?” Merlin asks. “You just have to cry.”

 

Alice checks Gwaine's nose again and then escorts all three boys to the head's office, leaving them with Mr. Keyes. She slips Arthur a lollipop on her way out and tells Mr Keyes that Arthur's upset because of Merlin making a new friend and thinking that meant he couldn't be friends with Arthur anymore.

 

Hunith arrives first, then Gwaine's mother, a plump little woman called Una who buries Gwaine in smothering hugs, checks his nose, then wallops him round the head and tells him not to get into fights. She's still lecturing him when Uther Pendragon arrives, half an hour later. Merlin takes pity on Arthur and holds his hand when Uther comes stalking over, eyebrows low, face cold with anger.

 

“What is this I hear about you fighting?” Uther says.

 

“Sorry, father,” Arthur says.

 

“Yes, I was in a board meeting. Gorlois is not available, Agravaine has been ignoring my calls, and when I get hold of Mrs. Powell she tells me she's already here for Merlin. You better have a very, very good explanation here, Arthur.”

 

Arthur looks at Merlin, then looks at Gwaine, then opens his mouth. Then he closes it again and shakes his head.

 

“Sir,” Merlin says, gathering his bravery.

 

“Sir,” Gwaine says, cutting across Merlin, “actually it was my fault. Arthur didn't know that me and Merlin are friends, and he heard me insulting Merlin, and, um, I may have said something about Merlin's mum. Too.”

 

“So you were protecting your friend?” Uther asks.

 

Arthur opens his mouth again, then just gapes at Gwaine. Merlin gapes, too.

 

“I hope you didn't insult Hunith,” Una says. “Gwaine, for heaven's sake! What gets into you, boy? I swear there's a devil living in your head. What have you been saying? That mouth of yours! He gets it from his father. I am very sorry, Hunith, if he said anything hurtful.”

 

Arthur coughs and clears his throat, then gets to his feet and stands in front of his father, letting go Merlin's hand.

 

“He's lying,” Arthur whispers. “I hit him. Because I was cross. I have no good explanation.”

 

Uther's face clouds over, anger turning to rage, but then the clouds clear a little.

 

“At least you have the honour to tell the truth. Come, let us interrupt your headmaster and make sure he does not wish to punish you, then I am taking you home and we will talk about _my_ punishment.”

 

Mr. Keyes decides that the three parents can work it out among themselves, and Arthur's taken home, his arm in Uther's vice-like grip. Gwaine whistles through his teeth and grins at Merlin.

 

“That was a close one, eh?” he says.

 

“If you say one more word,” Una says, “I'm shipping you back off to Dublin, and you can live with your bad cousins. What goes through your head, Gwaine? I do wonder sometimes.”

 

Arthur returns to the school the next day and makes a subdued apology to Merlin and Gwaine. They have to sit in the classroom at breaktime and listen to Arthur explain that he doesn’t think Merlin’s stupid and that his stories are actually really good and the reading thing is okay. Merlin crosses his arms, but he listens. It’s the first time Arthur’s actually apologised. He even says the word “sorry” more than once. At lunchtime, Gwaine spots Arthur eating alone and nudges Merlin.

 

“What?”

 

“Look. Arthur's on his own.”

 

“He can sit with his footie friends if he wants,” Merlin says with a shrug. “I'm still mad at him.”

 

“Arthur hasn't been to practise in ages,” Gwaine says. “I kind of took his place — that's how I'm on the team. He mightn't want to sit with them.”

 

“So he can sit on his own.”

 

“He looks kind of pathetic.”

 

Merlin sighs. Arthur does look pathetic. They go to sit with him.

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet more people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: vomiting, Arthur insists on thinking that Merlin's dating a sixteen year old, when Merlin's about twenty/twenty one. The person in question is actually twenty, but Arthur makes two comments. Chronic illness.

When Arthur's fourteen, his father's friend Godwin comes from America and brings his daughter, Elena. Arthur, remembering Sir Lancelot's Elaine in the stories, finds himself enchanted by her clumsiness, her too-loud, too-much, too-enthusiastic personality, and takes her riding. They have to walk through the town to the very top, to the riding school, and they ride out into the countryside, galloping side by side until Elena gives a war cry and draws ahead, racing across the fields and jumping the gully at the bottom.

 

Of course, Arthur's excitement at meeting someone so like Merlin's stories sets off a flare-up, and he's laid up in bed for the rest of the week, coughing, burning with fever. He tells Elena that she was so hot she caught him on fire, croaking around a mouthful of ulcers, when she visits him. She tells him he's ridiculous and kisses his cheek and Arthur beams and beams.

 

Merlin comes skulking in and interrupts, plopping down between them on the bed and telling Arthur about what happened at school, dumping an arm full of work into Arthur's lap before settling back against Arthur's pillow fort and flicking on the TV. He brings Arthur an ice lolly and the corticosteroid spray for the ulcers as well, and Arthur settles next to him, inviting Elena to take the armchair and watch Flight of the Concords with them.

 

Elena flirts, and Arthur flirts back, and Merlin watches with curiosity, but nothing comes of it. Arthur settles into friendship with Elena, and she — after attempting to flirt once or twice and not getting much back — shrugs and goes with it. It’s a fun friendship, and she gets plenty out of it (including Merlin as a sort of bi-product, flopping about and telling ridiculous tales, who she labels as a chronic liar and then loves dearly).

 

When they go to sixth form Arthur and Merlin find themselves in a class that includes a boy called Lance and they laugh themselves sick over it, and make Lance think they don't like him much and are mocking him for his name. Arthur leaves Merlin to explain that one and make it up to Lance. Lance ends up accepting Merlin's apology and sitting with them at lunch time, and he and Arthur bond over a shared dislike of pickled gherkins.

 

Merlin's third year at university he discovers that a woman called Gwen, who he's been sharing a seminar with for the past two years, is shortened from Gwenevere, at which point he has no choice but to seek her out and make friends with her. He emails Arthur to tell him, and Arthur emails back to tell Merlin about his rugby mate Percy secretly being a Percival and 'coming out' when Arthur told the lads about Merlin's Gwen.

 

Merlin emails “speaking of coming out…” in reply.

 

“So,” Arthur says, when Merlin calls him up, “we have a Gwenevere, an Arthur, a Merlin, a Percival, a Lancelot, a Gawaine even if he spells it wrong, and an almost-Elaine. And you're gay.”

 

“I'm not,” Merlin says, turning away from his desk, spinning, phone clutched to his ear “I'm bisexual. I just happen to have a boyfriend so I thought I'd better mention something. So I don't shock you.”

 

“Oh. Well, anyway, Gwen and Percy, huh?”

 

“I didn’t ring to talk to you about that stupid story, Arthur!”

 

“Whoa, you got out of bed the wrong side this morning.”

 

“No, I didn’t, because I slept at the desk again, because I’m behind on everything! I have three essays, and I’m supposed to be handing in chapters of my dis, and I have so so much reading, and I have a paper to present to a seminar, and I’m so screwed. I can’t do all those things.”

 

“You’ll be fine.”

 

“Platitudes won’t help. I want good, solid advice! Why did I ever choose creative writing? I can’t read, I can’t write, and I spell everything wrong. I spelt duck wrong the other day. Duck!”

 

“What academic essay could possibly include ducks?” Arthur wonders, and Merlin makes a strangled noise. Arthur walks across his bedroom to look out of the window. “Sorry. Just curious. Seriously, though, you manage this stuff all the time.”

 

“With organisation and careful planning, yeah. But I’m so behind.”

 

“Did you talk to your mentor-y guy? And the office? Disabilities office? They’re great here. They got my zero essay re-evaluated before I even really realised that there were so many forms and so much drama and it was so hard. I didn’t have to freak out at all.”

 

“Arthur, on topic, please. And yes, obviously I’ve talked to them. I got an extension, and we made a plan. I’m still… the reading, it’s so slow.”

 

“Use the TTS thingy.”

 

“Yeah, that’s slower. I can’t just skim until I find useful bits.”

 

“Your mentor helped with that last year.”

 

“She left. The new guy’s not so… he’s got less time.”

 

“Okay. Well, write a first draft of the important essay tonight. Dictate it even and send it to me. I’ll proof and type it up. Then, go to sleep for heaven’s sake. Tomorrow, skip your lectures unless they’re key, get a boat load of reading done and dictate your paper, even just some ideas, and send that to me. Day three in Arthur’s Amazing Plan: draft second and third essays to send to Amazing Arthur.”

 

Merlin calms down, listening to Arthur sorting things for him. Arthur sits on his bed and opens his laptop to send out cancellations to Ozzy for drinks, Leon for shopping and the team run he was doing with the rugby boys.

 

“It’s not fair,” Merlin says, tears of frustration embarrassing him. “I love words and writing and reading, and they, they… betray me!”

 

“I know,” Arthur says, grinning at his friend’s melodramatics. “They’re awful.”

 

“I hate this,” Merlin says.

 

“I get it,” Arthur says. “I have to ask for help, too, sometimes. It sucks. And it’s hard and not fair. You’re making me miserable too, Merry.”

 

Arthur does a lot of work for Merlin that term, and Merlin rings him about two weeks before they break for Christmas, crying and gin-soaked and pleased as punch about the results of their team effort. Arthur credits himself for Merlin’s continued success, but just before Merlin hangs up, Arthur spits out “I’m proud of you” and “you really never were an idiot” and “really too clever for anyone’s good” and then hangs up really quickly. Merlin rings in tears twice more, and Arthur decides he’s driving up to Scotland to get Merlin back home for Christmas.

 

“How’d you get here?” Merlin asks, when Arthur strides into his bedroom. “What are you doing in Scotland?”

 

“Your boyfriend let me in, I believe. Short bloke, red hair, looks approximately sixteen?”

 

“Sam does not look sixteen. He's twenty.”

 

Arthur shrugs and throws himself onto Merlin's bed with a groan.

 

“I feel like shit. I've been running a fever all week,” Arthur complains, rubbing his sweat all over Merlin's sheets.

 

“Should've said, I wouldn't have made you drive all the way up here. Oh wait, I didn't know you were coming! Why did you come?”

 

“It's fine, I just feel like crap. I hope you weren't planning on going drinking.”

 

“No, I wasn't, actually, because I'm not a fresher and don't— Fine, we were gonna go get smashed to celebrate the end of term.”

 

“Ugh, no, not doing that.”

 

“All right. But, again, how and why are you here?”

 

“Surprise! Came to cart you home to your mother.”

 

“I was getting the train.”

 

“And now you’re not.”

 

“And … now I’m not. All right, fine, I give in! Rule my life, you prat.”

 

Arthur snorts and flops over onto his stomach.

 

“Can you tell me more story? Now I have so many knights.”

 

“I think we need to make some of the women into, like, warriors or something. Diversify our stories,” Merlin says, propping his foot up on the chair and examining Arthur, “What have you been doing? You look like a tank.”

 

Arthur's more muscular than he was last time Merlin saw him. Then again, Merlin hasn't seen him, except over Skype, since early summer. Arthur ‘ran off to Africa with Lance to dig wells’ instead of going camping in Wales with Merlin.

 

“And hi, it's nice to see you,” Merlin adds, grinning.

 

Arthur groans.

 

“I'll hug you when I'm not so icky,” Arthur says. “I sweated through my t-shirt on the drive up.”

 

“Should you be driving with a fever?”

 

“It's just a little one. I should sweat it out before we head home. I took it easy last week, had no lectures. Worked on my dis, didn't play any rugby, slept like a normal human.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Come on, tell me a story, Merry.”

 

Merlin bites his lip, a habit he still has, and then joins Arthur on the bed. Arthur rolls over and sits up, wrapping his arms around Merlin and smacking his back a few times before cuddling him.

 

“I'm gonna cuddle the shit out of you,” Arthur says. “Oh, wait, no. That phrase has a very different meaning between us.”

 

Merlin laughs and turns his face away from Arthur's sweaty hair and neck so he can get some fresh air.

 

“You wanna take a shower before contaminating my bed? I had intended to sleep there myself, you know. You were gonna have an air mattress..”

 

“I'm sickly!” Arthur protests. “Be nice to me!”

 

“If I was nice to you every time you ran a fever, I'd never get to be mean. Go on, shower, then I'll tell you stories and feed you ice cream and you can nap in my bed while I decide if I want to take the air bed.”

 

“Sleep with your sixteen year old,” Arthur grumbles, getting up to go shower.

 

Sam makes dinner for them, and Arthur eats about half a small plate of pasta and grills Sam before his fork falls out of his hand and his tiredness gets the better of him. Merlin escorts him to bed to make sure he goes to sleep and doesn't just watch TV, which Arthur complains about but doesn't really mind.

“You know,” Merlin says in the car the next day, “we should call all our storybook friends together and have a storybook conference.”

 

“No,” Arthur says promptly, not taking his eyes off the road.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Morgana has a storybook name, remember? You never included her in the stories, but she is technically in the Arthurian legends. She plays quite a prominent part.”

 

“Oh yeah, she's your sister and you sleep with her. Creep.”

 

“And have a child with her. Only in some though. Sometimes she's not my sister.”

 

“But you always sleep with her.”

 

“Nope. Pretty sure I don't.”

 

“We should call everyone from _our_ story together, then.”

 

Arthur, in the sure and certain knowledge that Merlin will do it anyway, agrees. They decide the Pendragon house is the best venue, being largest and emptiest of parents. Uther usually makes an appearance on Christmas day itself, and Gorlois and Morgana usually turn up for dinner, but otherwise no one's around. They set the date as the thirtieth, and call it a New Years get together.

 

Merlin invites Gwen, Gwaine and Lance, Arthur invites Percival, Elena and (grudgingly) Morgana. Merlin also invites Sam, and Arthur invites his flat mate, Leon. Lance is the first to arrive, which is expected as he lives around the corner, and he brings Percy with him, which is not expected.

 

“Perce says you know each other, Arthur?” Lance says, clapping Arthur on the back and going to give Merlin a proper hug.

 

Percy lifts Arthur off the floor in a bear hug and shakes Merlin's hand, smiling widely.

 

“We do. But I didn't know he knew you,” Arthur says.

 

“We went to boarding school together, before sixth form,” Lance explains. “Do you have booze? Mum won't let us have anything in the house.”

 

“That's because your step-father is an alcoholic. It seems reasonable!” Merlin says, but he shows Lance to the kitchen and gets him set up with all the bottles.

 

Lance is the master cocktail-er, and Arthur bought him a cap that says “master cocktail-er” on it, only from the front it says “master cock” so he refuses to wear it. Percy puts it on without a qualm, wraps an arm around Lance's shoulders and settles down to be taster.

 

Next Leon arrives, smacking Arthur on the arse and kissing Merlin's cheek. He and Merlin at once begin commiserating about how annoying Arthur is, which Arthur says is unfair but neither of them listens. Morgana and Elena arrive arm in arm, and when Gwen arrives, squealing and bundling Merlin into a fantastic hug, she joins them. Her brother comes up a few minutes behind her, buried in bags, and introduces himself as Elyan.

 

“She left me to carry everything,” he says. “She said it was all right if we stayed here, but she also said she hadn't asked so I understand if not. However, you are carrying all her shit back to the car if we're going elsewhere because there's a lot of it.”

 

Arthur shows him to a spare bedroom and then shows him to Lance, who fills him up with rum and coke. Sam slips in and finds Merlin without a fuss, passing Arthur a bottle of wine on his way past. Gwaine arrives fashionably late, swaggering in, already slightly tipsy, attempting to hug Merlin but missing and hugging the bannisters instead.

 

“Good to see you, Gwaine,” Arthur says. “I haven't seen you in about five years. Glad to see nothing's changed.”

 

“I was all of twelve when you knew me, prat,” Gwaine says. “I did not get drunk with such frequency.”

 

Arthur ferrets Leon out, talking rugby with Percy, and then makes himself at home and gets horribly drunk. At around eleven, a hoard of people from the party Gwaine _had_ been attending arrive, and Arthur makes a half-arsed attempt to evict them, but they brought booze so Merlin talks him into letting them stay. The music goes up, the booze goes down, and everyone ends up slaughtered.

 

Merlin and Arthur spin arm in arm in the middle of the room and decide Sam can be Sam Gamgee, so he fits with the theme.

 

“Fits with me, too,” Merlin says, “as you call me Merry all the time”

 

“Sam fits with Frodo. Merry fits with Pippin,” Arthur grumbles.

 

Merlin makes up a raucous story about Gwenevere being kidnapped and, while imprisoned by the evil man, accidentally rescuing a man who turns out to be her long-lost brother. And, because Merlin's drunk, Gwenevere and Arthur end up having rowdy sex. Arthur laughs and tries not to go bright red and doesn't look at Gwen for the rest of the night.

 

The hangover is epic. Arthur holds Merlin's head as he pukes his guts up, Merlin makes Arthur bacon, and everyone slowly accumulates in the living room, sprawling out on sofas and chairs and bringing bedding with them. Elena curls up in Arthur's lap. Morgana seems to have gotten herself tangled up with Gwen. Merlin makes himself at home in a corner with Sam.

 

“You know,” Leon says, talking over the film that no one's watching, “this is a really...” he pauses to burp and everyone watches him warily in case he vomits, because he was boasting that he never does and everyone knows how those things work, “really strange group of people. Like, Arth, I like Percy and everything, but he's hardly your most bestest pal from uni. You didn't invite Ozzy or anyone of that lot who we usually drink with.”

 

“Yeah, Merlin, where are the rest of your mates?” Gwen says.

 

“And why am I the only one from our shit boat of a school?” Gwaine says.

 

Arthur looks pointedly around at the limp, hungover bodies of some people he definitely recognises from school. Gwaine waves that away.

 

“Why am I only one from school _invited_?” Gwaine corrects, when Arthur's looks grow more pointed.

 

“Um,” Merlin says, sounding so un-innocent that everyone's curiosity is piqued tenfold.

 

“You gave it away, Merry. You can tell,” Arthur grumbles, burrowing into his duvet and pulling Elena into his arms more so he can huddle against her back.

 

When Merlin explains his thought process, everyone laughs, but then Elena demands to hear about her character, and that sets off more demands, and soon everyone's chanting.

 

“Just do it, Merlin. My head hurts,” Arthur says, from his buried position, only his hair sticking up.

 

“It's a story I've been telling since I was seven years old. It's fairly involved by now,” Merlin says, but everyone just keeps on chanting. “Fine. Shush! I'll tell you! Okay. So, Lance is best friends with Ellie, but they are kept apart by Arthur, who's the king and needs his knights. He collected his knights by riding about on a horse and hoping to come across some heroic people. Sir Lance he met fighting a giant, Sir Gwaine he found jousting, Sir Percy he found in the middle of a forest, chasing a deer on foot. Then there's Gwenevere, who was his damsel in distress but became a warrior knight when we learnt about feminism. Elena also learnt to fight about that time and stopped staying home in her tower pining for her platonic life partner.”

 

Arthur carefully doesn't mention just how recently they learned about feminism and just how new Gwenevere and Elena's statuses are.

 

“Sorry,” Lance says, grinning. “I just had so much to do, you know.”

 

“Well, I can fight better than you anyhow,” Elena says.

 

“There were more characters, who came and went, but Arthur liked those best so, here you are. Also Mordred. We haven't met anyone called Mordred yet, but he's in the stories as Arthur's squire, and he recurs quite regularly. Arthur has this casts of characters, and Merlin finds them quests. They've been all over the place. Sherwood Forest, Tír na nÓg, Athens. Maid Marion comes into it quite a lot, and Oisin.”

 

“It sounds exciting,” Elena says.

 

“What about me?” Morgana says. “Me and Leon ought to be in it, too. Me especially, seeing as I'm in the stories you based these on and was there half the time you were telling them! Also, Sam should be your beaux now, Mer.”

 

“Shove off, Morgana,” Arthur says. “Leon can be a knight if he wants.”

 

“Awesome!” Leon says.

 

Merlin answers some more questions about the particular characters and tells Elena that her name used to be Elaine, like Elaine of Astolat, but then Arthur had met Ellie and Merlin had stopped keeping them separate. He also tells Morgana she can't be in it because she'd cause chaos with her temper.

 

Merlin isn't surprised when, two days after the party, Arthur starts throwing up anything he eats. He had complained about being cold a lot, and he spent the whole morning sleeping. He throws up rather spectacularly into the flower bed on his way to find Merlin, who's at the bottom of the drive saying goodbye to Sam.

 

“Shit,” Merlin says, coming up and patting his shoulder. “Alright?”

 

“Ugh. No, gonna be sick again,” Arthur says, and promptly throws up some more.

 

“Wow,” Leon says, coming out. “Is he okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Merlin says, sighing. “He's just gonna be feeling crap for a few days.”

 

It's only two days, this time. The fever's higher than it has been in a while and Merlin stays. After the first day Hunith turns up to help out, too. Everyone except Leon is gone, but Leon sticks around and does cooking and stuff. Once the fever's burnt Arthur out, he gets up and staggers to the living room to watch sports repeats with Leon.

 

“So,” Leon says, “that was more fun than usual.”

 

“Entirely worth it,” Arthur says, “and you didn't see me after freshers. I was so sick, mate.”

 

“Sucks to be you. I think everyone was pretty sick after freshers. That beach party was killer.”

 

“I went to about two parties and got drunk three times.”

 

“That's it?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Sucks to be you,” Leon says again, laughing.

 

Merlin comes and sacks out in the armchair, changing the channel from sports to Midsomer Murders.

 

“Arthur said I could be in the stories,” Leon says, over Barnaby.

 

“Did he now?” Merlin says.

 

“I did,” Arthur says.

 

“He did,” Leon confirms.

 

“Better get on that, Word-Man,” Arthur says.

 

“Can you even remember where the knights are?” Merlin asks,

 

“They're solving the murder of Patrick Bloom the farmer who got his own pitchfork through his chest. You were on a Midsomer Murders and Orlando Bloom kick last time you told me a story,” Arthur says.

 

“Oh. All right, all right. Sir Lancelot is up at the farm asking questions, Sir Percival and Sir Gawain are riding out after the mysterious man who was seen lingering around the village before the crime. Merlin and Arthur are at the tavern, pretending to be peasants, listening to the villagers.”

 

Arthur and Leon settle in, and Leon whispers “story time” excitedly, making Arthur laugh and hold his sore stomach.

 

“Alright?” Merlin asks.

 

“Yeah, go ahead. Just don't make laugh,” Arthur says.

 

“There's a sound outside the tavern,” Merlin says, closing his eyes, “and it's not the wind. At first Arthur thinks the hoofbeats are the thunder of an oncoming storm, then he thinks perhaps Percival or Gawain are returned. The second set of hoofbeats seems to back up this theory, but then there are shouts, and it's neither of his knights. The clash of swords, the ring of metal on metal, draw both Arthur and Merlin out into the courtyard.”

 

“Hang on,” Arthur says. “Sorry.”

 

He stumbles off to the bathroom, and Merlin goes to get him some water, waiting in the hall until he's done throwing up.

 

“Sorry,” Arthur says. “My stomach's not settling.”

 

“It's okay. Want me to call Mum?”

 

“No. Just, gonna lie down.”

 

“Living room or bedroom?”

 

Arthur decides on the living room, but makes Merlin get his duvet and pillows and makes himself a nest-like bed on the biggest sofa.

 

“Sorry,” Arthur mumbles.

 

“It’s alright,” Merlin says. “I've been puked on several times, puking near me is nothin.”

 

“Hey, you've got me back enough times by now, especially since you started drinking,” Arthur says.

 

“Oh god,” Merlin says, “the first time I tried whiskey!”

 

“You ever see the exorcist?” Arthur asks Leon, grinning.

 

“I think we should tell the other story,” Leon says. “This one sounds gross.”

 

“It is,” Arthur says, sighing happily. “There was Merlin, still so skinny he was almost see through-”

 

“No, no, I don't want, no offence Merlin, I don't want to hear about your vomiting exploits.”

 

“No offence taken. Arthur and Merlin went out into the courtyard,” Merlin says firmly, quelling Arthur with a look (”Have to learn that,” Leon mutters), “and immediately spot the cause of the disturbance. Two knights are sparring. A man in a deep red surcoat over chainmail, helm alight with gold engraving. The other a heavyset man in black armour, crest picked out in silver. The red knight seems to be winning, and Arthur settles back to watch.”

 

“Which am I?” Leon asks.

 

“The dark knight shows considerable skill with a blade, but Arthur's distracted by the coat of arms across his chest. He recognises it, the pattern awakening a memory. The red knight's sword slips between plates of armour, sinking deep into the black knight's stomach. The red knight draws back and removes his helmet, watching the other. But he does not fall, instead drawing out the blade, unblemished, and tossing it aside before advancing on the red knight.”

 

“I'm the red one, aren't I?” Leon says “I'm a red coat. I'm about to die.”

 

“The black knight's blade lands against the red knight's neck, and Arthur starts forward. 'Merlin' he cries, 'it is Sir Tristan!'”

 

“I thought we already vanquished him,” Arthur says, yawning. “He was my fictional uncle,” he explains to Leon, “standing in for my dear uncle Agravain who had been cruel that week. Later, Merlin threw caution to the wind and shoved Agravain in, too. Agravain overheard his desperately un-heroic death scene and tried to talk father into not letting Merlin back into the house.”

 

“I'm telling the story,” Merlin reminds.

 

“Just catching Leon up,” Arthur says, yawning again. “Carry on with the resurrected uncle thing.”

 

“Merlin, quick as lightning, throws out a spell that stops the blade before it cuts through the red knight's neck. The black knight turns, armour clanking, and faces Merlin instead. Arthur runs to the red knight's side and checks him, presses his cloak to the wound to stop the bleeding. Merlin, who is learned in the lore of magic, knows that he cannot kill that which is already dead. He knows, though, that Arthur's blade can and will.

 

“'Arthur, I must borrow Excalibur!' Merlin calls.

 

“Arthur scrambles to his feet, but he hasn't got Excalibur. Only Gram hangs at his side. Arthur curses in many tongues and looks around for an idea. He knows that his nephew Geheris has Excalibur and knows he cannot get the sword in time. Merlin fights with everything he has, keeping the knight at bay, but he cannot hold out forever. Arthur suddenly recalls an old story.

 

“‘Merlin! Call Kilgharrah!'”

 

“A dragon,” Arthur explains to Leon in a sleep-heavy voice, “from Sherwood Forest. Was a baddy but agreed to work for Robin Hood to collect gold. Arthur doesn't like, Merlin can control. Merlin's got a stuffed one.”

 

“Merlin throws his head back and calls the dragon to him, then fights again. He and the dark knight are locked to one another, turning, twisting, light-footed. Merlin uses magic and sword and elements, the knight uses strength and steel, and still he comes and comes again, blade flashing bright in the evening light. Kilgharrah comes swooping down and opens his great jaws, ready to burn Merlin's enemies.

 

“'No!' Arthur cries, knowing the dragon cannot burn one figure without the other. 'The sword, dragon. My blade. Forged in dragon's breath, it can defeat the dead!'

 

 

“Kilgharrah turns on the king, and Arthur holds the blade high and holds his breath, hoping. The dragon's jaws open again and flame engulfs both king and blade, and for a moment everything is still. Then the black knight rallies and comes at Merlin, and Merlin dances aside. The flames die, and Arthur is revealed.

 

“'Merlin, sword!' Arthur calls, throwing the blade.

 

“It flies in an arc over the knight's head, falling into Merlin's reach, pommel down. Merlin catches it and in the same movement ploughs it through the gap the red knight made, deep into the black knight. This time, the knight falls, blue light and dust churning, armour disintegrating, crumpling, eating the nothingness within itself. Merlin falls to his knees to watch.

 

“'That was quite something' the red knight says. 'I had thought to kill him four times, but each time he rose again, unharmed.'

 

“'You cannot kill what is already dead, and he has been dead these past ten years,' Arthur says.

 

“'I am in your debt, sir. And yours,' he says turning to Merlin, 'and offer you my service in payment. I am Sir Leon, and I have fought many battles.'

 

“'I accept, on both our parts,' Arthur says. 'We must discover quickly what Sir Tristan is doing walking this earth when he is supposed dead. And we must discover the cause of Sir Bloom's untimely death by pitchfork. We can use all the aid we can get.'”

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur discovers someone new, which leads to something new for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: high fevers, child neglect, loneliness, hospitalization, self esteem issues, thinking asexual means broken, chronic illness

When he's twenty four, Arthur meets a man called Mordred. He's working a badly paid job doing accounts for the NHS, and Mordred's the twenty year old who's doing an administrative apprenticeship. Arthur immediately rings Merlin from work and tells him about meeting an actual, real life Mordred. And Mordred overhears.

“A real life one, huh?” Mordred says, leaning in the doorway, grinning widely.

“Oh, um, Merlin, I have to go,” Arthur says and hangs up quickly. “I'm sorry, Mordred, so sorry. Um, hi.”

“Hey. How is it that I'm famous before you've even met me?”

“No, I mean. Shit. Look, Merlin used to make up these stupid stories, and there was a Mordred in them. You were actually my squire. In the stories! Not in, um, real life.”

Arthur buries his face in his hands and thuds down onto this desk with a groan.

“You're hashle-fucshickling your keys,” Mordred says.

Arthur's screen is full of keyboard smash instead of numbers. Arthur groans again and tries to get his work back. Mordred comes over and presses a few keys and Arthur's work pops back up.

“You changed windows,” Mordred says, clicking again and revealing the keyboard smash.

Arthur hangs his head and laughs and laughs.

He finds himself liking Mordred, and more than that, liking Mordred. Merlin teases him mercilessly when he catches on, firstly because Arthur used to call Sam (now going by Samantha and still living in Merlin's spare room even though they stopped dating a while ago) ‘the twelve year old’ and secondly because Arthur is now, according to Merlin, officially contaminated by the gay genes. Arthur retorts that he's not gay.

“I dunno what I am,” he tells Mordred, three months later, crashed out on Mordred's sofa, burning up with his first fever since starting work, “because I don't want to have sex with you.”

“I am very relieved about that, Arthur, and my Mum will be too when she overhears you from where she is working in the office next door,” Mordred says. “Move your head. Your pillow's wet. I'll change it.”

Arthur groans and moves about until Mordred's convinced he's comfortable.

“I know you're still only a little baby,” Arthur slurs, looking for his ceiling crack, forgetting where he is for a second. “Oh, Jonathan the snake's gone.”

Mordred looks down at him, wallowing in patheticness on the sofa.

“Mum, what do you do for someone with a fever?” Mordred calls.

“There's Ibuprofen in the bathroom darling,” she calls back.

“Are fevers contagious?” Mordred asks, poking his head into the office. “Because we're seeing Daisy's kid tomorrow, and I don't wanna get her sick.”

“He said he had HIDS, didn't he? The fever isn't contagious. Is he staying here for long or just tonight?”

“I dunno. He says he's going to work tomorrow, but he's kind of delirious. He was talking about Jonathan the snake.”

“Jonathan is the crack in my old ceiling!” Arthur calls, overhearing the last bit. “Oh god, your Mum really could hear me waffling about you!”

“Yes, I could,” Lilleth agrees, smiling at Mordred. “Go get him Ibuprofen, Mord. I'm going to get ready for work, and I need a shower.”

“Work?” Arthur says, staggering into the office and leaning on Mordred's back. “It's late for work.”

“She's a nurse, Arthur. Come on, come lie down again. I'm gonna get something to help your fever.”

“Don't help the fever. It doesn't need help. It's already raaaging,” Arthur says, stumbling back to the sofa and flopping face down.

Later, Mordred sitting stroking his hair and Arthur purring and talking about Jonathan and Sir Percival and Sir Percival conquering Jonathan and the wizard Merlin, Arthur seems to be losing his mind. Mordred bites the inside of his cheek, face scrunching up in worry, then fishes Arthur's phone out of the pile of clothes (Mordred leant him sweats when he realised Arthur was going to take his work clothes off whether he had anything to change into or not) and calls Merlin.

“He seems delirious,” Mordred says. “Listen.”

He holds the phone to Arthur's lips and lets him ramble on, then puts it back to his ear.

“See?” Mordred says.

“He's alright,” Merlin says, laughing. “I used to tell him stories when he was sick. He's just talking about that. I think he's trying to tell you about them.”

“Oh,” Mordred says. “I feel foolish now.”

“Don't. Check his temp if you're worried, as long as it's below forty he's fine. He's probably kind of tired. He's been being stupid and staying up late to play Minecraft.”

Mordred laughs and strokes Arthur's hair, then goes to get the thermometer just in case. Arthur's fever's only thirty-eight. Arthur watches Mordred and smiles, wide and silly.

“Mordred,” Arthur says, “I like you. But not for sex.”

“You've already told me that, and as I've already said, I'm glad.”

“Why? Don't you like me?”

“I like you fine, Arthur. I'm, um, I'm ace. Asexual.”

“What's that then?”

“Look it up. I don't want to say it, it's embarrassing.”

Arthur sighs and falls asleep between one breath and a next. Mordred watches him, brushes the hair off his forehead and sighs as well. Arthur does go to work the next day, and he does go on the internet and does some research, looking around. He looks around a lot.

It's almost six months before Arthur's sick again. He goes to Merlin this time, after work. It's raining, and he gets wet, and he's a bit pathetic when he knocks on the door. It's not even Merlin who answers — it's his housemate wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

“I know you! You're Merlin's Arthur!”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I am. Though I take issue with the implication that I belong to anyone.”

“Ha! You're posh an' all!”

Merlin appears on the stairs and beckons Arthur inside. The boxers man moves aside, and Arthur follows Merlin upstairs to his room. Lance is up there, sitting at Merlin's desk, and a blow-up bed is out on the floor.

“Hey, Arthur,” Lance says. “You look awful.”

“You do actually,” Merlin says, taking Arthur's coat and hanging it on the back of the door, “and you're wet. Take things off.”

Arthur strips slowly out of his wet things, Merlin's hands helping get them all the way off. Lance watches, tapping a pen idly on the desk.

“Can he borrow some joggers, Lance?” Merlin says.

Arthur stands shivering, eyes heavy. Lance finds a pair of joggers and a shirt and turns his eyes away as Merlin helps Arthur out of his underwear. Arthur has to lean on Merlin's shoulder to get into the borrowed clothes.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asks, rubbing across Arthur's shoulders, “You're cold.”

“I dunno. Fuzzy. Probably shouldn't have walked here.”

Arthur sits heavily on the bed and leans until he's lying down, Lance and Merlin looking on. His legs are still off.

“You gonna get on proper?” Merlin asks.

“Yeah,” Arthur slurs, getting his legs on, too, bare feet against the sheets, toes curling and uncurling.

“Grab me some socks,” Merlin says, sitting on the bed by Arthur. “There should be a thermometer in the sock draw, too, actually.”

Lance roots through until he finds a thick pair, and sure enough there's a thermometer in a box. He passes both across to Merlin.

“How high is it?” Arthur says. “Feels kinda high.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin says. “Wait till I take it and we'll see.”

Arthur lies still, eyes open, gazing at Lance until the beep goes, then blinks long and slow.

“Okay. Just below thirty eight, I'll need to keep doing this, keep an eye on that. You feel okay otherwise?”

“Mm. No stomach or throat or ulcers. Just... nng.”

Arthur trails off, eyes closing on a groan. Merlin covers him with the duvet and then sits by his stomach, tucking up a knee, and looks at Lance.

“What were you telling me about... Seb?” Merlin asks.

“Zeb. We've got a few gigs,” Lance says. “That's it? The Arthur drama's over?”

“Yeah, he'll sleep it off.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“There,” Merlin says, pointing to the small space left on the bed.

“Does he not need looking after?” Lance asks, face crinkling with concern.

Arthur smiles, eyes cracking open again.

“Yeah, Merlin, don't I need some taking care of?” he says, “Mordred did good taking care.”

“You dope. You used to rage at me if I did too much 'caring'. And go to Mordred if he does such good caring.”

“I don't want to go to Mordred. It was a fling, it's over,” Arthur says, huffing.

“You had a fling with a twenty year old?” Merlin says, raising an eyebrow.

“A friendship fling. I was enamoured, now I like him. Like a friendly colleague. I don't know. Shut up. Tell us a story,” Arthur says, “I'm sleepy. Story time.”

“You are a pain in my arse, you know that, right?” Merlin says, ruffling Arthur's hair up.

It's damp so it does crazy things. Merlin ruffles it some more.

“Oh, yes,” Lance says, “a story. Tell us some of your story. With me in it.”

“You're not in it,” Merlin snaps, “unless your name is suddenly changed. It's Lancelot in the story. Sir Lancelot.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, “Lance.”

“Well, perhaps I'll just tell you about Zeb, in that case,” Lance says. “I would like to go over the details of this boring plan with you, Merls.”

“Merry, Merry, don't let him bore me to death,” Arthur says, “no. Tell us a story. You can be Lancelot, Lance. He could be, Merry, almost. In the right light. If he was just a little nicer.”

“Not helping,” Lance says. “I was considering looking at flats, I know how engrossing someone else's flat hunt is. I saw this one today. It had a great bathroom. I should tell you about the bathroom. In detail.”

“Just like Sir Lancelot,” Arthur says, “the beautiful, splendid knight. Very sexy. Very wonderful. Sexy. Merlin, I think I'm not.”

“Not sexy?” Merlin asks.

“Mm,” Arthur agrees equably, entirely unworried by it.

“Don't think you mean that,” Merlin says. “Alright, I'll tell you a story and you, Lance, can be Lancelot. Where was Lancelot last time, Arthur?”

“Down a hole,” Arthur says, curling his hand over Merlin's thigh, “hiding.”

“Yes he was. We'd found Mr Bloom's killer and were trying to connect Oswald with Sir Tristan, the black knight.”

“Ozzy,” Arthur agrees, quietly.

“His friend from uni,” Merlin says, “wanted to be a baddy. Lancelot is hiding from Oswald's man servant, a prickly, bad-tempered little man. The hole is a well. Sir Lancelot crouches, barely daring to breathe, as the servant moves around the courtyard. He's definitely not supposed to be here, and everyone knows very well how closely he's linked with the king. He cannot risk being caught here, on Oswald's property.

“The servant moves away, down a corridor, and Sir Lancelot hears the retreating footsteps. Knowing it might be hours before he gets another chance, he moves swiftly, pulling himself over the lip of the well and ducking down, running low to the ground, away toward the wall. He slips into a passage and hears the returning footsteps of the servant, coming his way. He pushes open the closest door and moves inside.

“The room is bare, but there's a candle lit and a table. Spread on the table are sheets of paper. This must be the servant's work room. Lancelot rifles through the papers, then searches the papers stuffed under the desk also. He finds three interesting ones, but before he can read them the door latch rises. Lancelot moves fast, leaping to grip the window sill and pulls himself over, out into the night again.

“Escape from the castle is easier than entering was, and he makes himself part of the shadows moving down the road away through the scattered houses. He finds his horse on the edge of the village where he left her and rides away at a gallop. He rides without rest for three hours until he meets his king and Merlin, the wizard.”

“Wizard,” Arthur says, “you.”

“Shh. Get some rest, plonker,” Merlin says, stroking Arthur's temple. Arthur's eyes drift shut again, fingers working against Merlin's thigh for a moment, then slackening. “Sir Lancelot gives the pages he pocketed over with a deep bow. Arthur reads them but can't make head nor tail of them so he passes them to Merlin.

“'This is it,' Merlin says. 'Here's the connection. Oswald demanded his servant find a way to harm our King, I believe. This is research. First into Arthur, then into Tristan, and finally into resurrection curses. Tristan swore then he would take revenge on King Arthur, and that anger lived on in his spirit when it was called.'

“'Who is his servant?' King Arthur asks.  
“'His name,' Lancelot says, 'I do not know. He is known simply as Jester, the role he most often fulfils. He has magic, however — that is widely known among the servants at Sir Oswald's castle.'

“'And he is still at large. We must meet up with Sir Leon and Sir Elyan and ride at once,' Arthur says, swinging up into his saddle.”

“Majestically,” Arthur says, “you used to make me swing majestically up onto the horse.”

“I used to be a small child with a wild imagination,” Merlin says.

“And now you're a big child with a wild imagination,” Lance says.

“Shut up both of you,” Merlin says. “Don't you want to hear what happens next?”

“No,” Arthur says, “No I don't. I don't, it's gonna be bad, I don't want to hear it. Please, no more. I don't want any more.”

Merlin soothes the sudden restless fear away by promising not to tell any more. He runs his fingers through Arthur's hair, over his temple, down his neck to rub gently at his chest.

“Easy, darling,” Merlin says, falling back on the old affectionate name Gorlois would use. “I'll tell you about King Arthur and Merlin when they're at Camelot, hmm? Merlin reading and studying up on lore and Arthur disturbing him and causing chaos.”

“No. It’s not happy.”

“Alright, no story? You want to just listen to me and Lance talk for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, fingers curling over Merlin’s thigh, eyes closing again.

“You were telling me about Zeb,” Merlin nudges Lance into talking. 

“Mm. He’s a good guy. We’ve been jamming together a bit, and he suggested some busking, and there’s been a couple of pubs that agreed to let us play sometimes. I don’t know how much we can make, but it’ll keep me in food until September.”

“You don’t have to move out, you know? You can crash here till you sail off with whoever it is this time. What are you doing next, again?”

“I’m going to Tanzania to do water resource things. No building this time, I don’t think.”

“Saving the world, inch by inch.”

“How long’ve you been here?” Arthur murmurs, voice slurred. 

Merlin frowns and takes his temp again, frown deepening when he finds it higher. He digs out some Ibuprofen and makes Arthur take it. 

“I’ve been here two weeks,” Lance says, “by way of Switzerland. I went hiking with college friends. Do you guys remember Rosie and Batty?”

“No,” Merlin says, “Batty?”

“Yeah. They were posh kids from boarding, like me. Bats let me stay at hers sometimes, when I got fed up with being home. Restless feet.”

“Home was hard. Don’t dismiss it if you want to say something about it,” Merlin says. 

“I didn’t like being there, after boarding for so long. Going home each night to Mum and Ian struggling. He’s a good guy, but it was hard for them. Why don’t I tell you about India?” Lance says. “Once Greenpeace got me in their office, I was pretty set out there. That was good.”

“No,” Arthur says, shifting suddenly and bumping his head against Merlin’s shoulders, “another story, now. Please. A happy story. Merlin, I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah you can, you’re just tired,” Merlin says, turning so he can face Arthur.

“No, no. I want, I don’t know. I want you to, to, um, I can’t. Please,” Arthur says, tears starting. 

Merlin glances up at Lance, but Lance is carefully not paying attention, pretending interest in the laptop screen. Arthur shifts restlessly in the bed and moans, teeth baring against discomfort.

“All right,” Merlin says, “all right. There once was a boy. He had to spend a lot of time in bed, and he grew very, very lonely. He had no one to visit him, and no one to play with him, no one to talk to. His father was a busy man who often travelled far and wide, and the boy was alone with nothing but a crack in the ceiling for company.”

“Then?” Arthur says. “What happens to the boy?”

“Then one day, a particularly lonely day when the boy was wishing very hard for company, another little boy appeared in the room, by magic. He just popped into being in the middle of the carpet. The lonely boy wanted to shout at him to make him go away because he was to be left alone. That was the rule. But the new boy was already there, walking around and looking at things, touching things. Before the lonely boy could protest, the new boy had raided his bookshelves and taken down three big books of stories.”

“He read them to the lonely boy,” Arthur says, “didn't he?”

“Yes. He read a story from each book, but then he said he had to go, and he vanished. He appeared again the next day and did the same thing, read a story from each book and then vanished. This happened each day for two weeks, and the lonely boy wasn't quite so lonely. But the new boy kept having to leave, and that made the lonely boy sad.”

“But then?” Arthur says. “Get to the next bit, Merlin.”

“But then, one day there was a wonderful smell in the lonely boy's house, and a new cook who came and kept him company sometimes. And the cook brought her son. The lonely boy recognised him at once as the magic boy. The new boy climbed up onto the bed and told the lonely boy that he was magic, but his magic wasn't very strong and so he could only stay for three stories. But now he was living in the house with his mother.”

“And he never vanished again. And the lonely boy was never lonely again.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, “that's right. Not going anywhere, lovely.”

“I was... so, so lonely,” Arthur whispers, already almost asleep.

“I know. I knew from the time you tried to beat Gwaine up for stealing me.”

“So lonely,” Arthur murmurs again.

“Not anymore,” Merlin says.

“He tried to beat Gwaine up for what?” Lance whispers, once Arthur's dropped off. “Stealing you? This is a story I really want to hear.”

“You've already had your story for tonight,” Merlin says, settling the covers around Arthur's shoulders.

“Is he alright?” Lance asks, concern coming through again.

“It's just the fever,” Merlin says, “and Uther's fucked up useless care. And the lingering... Arthur was a sick kid. It's much better these days. When we were kids, every six weeks sometimes he'd be bad. The fevers burnt him up and spat him out, and he couldn't do much. He used to just lie on his back for hours on end. It scared me, but it gave me a captive audience for all the stories bubbling inside of me.”

“You helped him.”

“We helped each other, honestly. I needed a friend, too, and I needed someone who had the time to listen to me, to be with me. Just to be there, you know? He had that time, and I had the company and stories he needed. It was kind of a miracle that we ended up at the same place in the same time.”

“He's lucky to have you.”

“Actually, I think he’s helped me as much as I helped him. When I started doing articles for that shitty magazine, I couldn’t keep up, with my dyslexia and it being a new job and I was sort of drowning. Arthur helped. I’d record the article, he’d type them up. He was basically my secretary all through school and those first awful jobs.”  
“He's a good man,” Lance says, “I know that. I still say he's lucky to have you.”

“Yes, yes he is,” Merlin says, grinning, trying to lighten the mood, “I'm gonna have to go down to the chemists and buy an ear thermometer. He's not gonna wake up to do that one often enough.”

“I can stay with him,” Lance says. “You should go now, while the shop's open and he's asleep.”

Arthur's fever rises in the night, and at half past one Lance drives them to the hospital when Arthur's temp hits forty one and a bit. Merlin rings Uther, but Uther just tells him to ring again if anything goes wrong. So Merlin rings Hunith, who promises to drive up in the morning and check on them. Lance sits with him in the waiting room.

The hospital staff get Arthur's temperature down by morning, and when Hunith arrives they're told they can take Arthur home. Hunith drives them all the way back to her house on the housing estate, to Merlin's old sawn in half bunk beds, now two twins, to the rickety kitchen with the stove from the sixties, to the shower that spits instead of running. Arthur burns.

Once the fever's gone and Arthur's taken to resting in the shared garden, wrapped in a duvet and ensconced in Mr. Bounder's swing seat, Gwaine comes by with cookies for Merlin and a heap of old comics for Arthur and lies in the grass at Arthur's side.

“Still here, Gwaine?” Arthur teases.

“Always, my lord,” Gwaine says.

“What are you doing these days?” Merlin asks around a mouthful of cookie from where he's sat pretending to proofread an article he's submitting to a small London paper (the rival to the one he did an internship at — he feels no remorse because the internship was unpaid and crap).

“I'm working the harvest at the moment, extra hands needed everywhere. Did some picking last few months, bar work in the off season up in town. I've been doing some work for your Dad, Arthur.”

“At the office?” Arthur asks, surprised.

“Nah, just secretary-type things when he works from home, which is quite regularly these days. Jonathan quit a few years ago, and the new one at the office refuses to do work at Uther's house.”

“Ha, I'd forgotten Jonathan,” Merlin says. “We named the crack in Arthur's ceiling after him.”

“It was a snake you said,” Arthur says. “Refused to call it a crack.”

“You had no imagination. I was trying to stir something up in you, you boring clod,” Merlin says.

“Speaking of stirring,” Gwaine says. “What's Sir Gwaine up to these days?”

“Oh no, I'm not telling more stories! Lance demanded one just the other night. Not even Arthur asks for those much anymore. It's just you guys,” Merlin says.

“Just sum it up,” Gwaine says.

“We lost him,” Arthur says, solemnly.

“You killed me off?” Gwaine shouts, “Merlin! You lout!”

“It was so sad,” Arthur says. “We lost him to the taverns back in Tortuga about a year ago. Haven't seen him since we landed.”

“You mean I've been off drinking for a year, and you haven't gone back to collect my sodden arse?” Gwaine says. “How disloyal.”

“Gawaine's the loyal one,” Arthur says, “not King Arthur. Merry, I feel sick.”

“Huh?” Merlin says. “You're not vomiting this time. What?”

“Just ill. I'm going to go inside, okay? Can you bring the bedding later?”

“Yeah, sure,” Merlin says, watching him go with a frown.

“What's up with him?” Gwaine asks.

“I don't know. Maybe he was just trying to escape from your company.”

“You know,” Gwaine says, looking down, “I’m not like the Gawain in your story. Not loyal, I mean. Not like Arthur says. I’ve always just breezed along, never really stopped for anyone. My Mum used to threaten to send me back to the bad cousins a lot. Never slowed me down, though.”

“You’re loyal,” Merlin says, “to me. And sometimes to Arthur, when he isn’t pissing you off.”

“I wish I could be truly loyal. Used to get people in trouble, just leave them to sweat it out. Dobbed them in to save myself, cast them off.”

“You moved a lot. That makes it hard to make friends.”

“Reason I forgave Arthur, really. You were my only friend, and I knew you were his only friend, too. United in our pathetic loneliness, eh?”

“You’re a good man, Gwaine. You are also a good friend. To me, a very good friend. I made friends with Arthur because I was curious, he was a captive audience, we were thrown together, and I needed him. He needed me. Made friends with you because I wanted to, because you were awesome. I stand by that.”

“Thanks. I think. Sorry, bit of a downer, there.”

“I know you’re more than a clown you jerk, don’t belittle that.”

“Hmm. You think Arthur’s really okay?”

“See? Concern and all. I think he’s miserable about something, actually, and has been for a bit.”

Arthur confirms Merlin's suspicions about him not being very happy later that evening. He tells Merlin that his job is starting to get fed up with his absences. This is the the second time he's taken weeks off for sickness. It's not going to last forever.

“And I think I'm asexual,” Arthur says, “which means broken.”

“That's what you were on about the other night. It does not mean broken!”

“How do you know?”

“Because I actually embrace my LGBT-plus identity and spend time in LGBT-plus spaces.”

“Oh.”

“Come with me, next month. There's this event, calls itself safer space and queer. It's open, and there are loads of cool people there. At least three people who go that I kind of know are ace.”

“I'll never get to fall in love, though.”

“Love isn't sex, Arthur. There are lots of types of love. Do you want to have sex with me?”

“No.”

“But you still love me, don't you? Oh, don't tell me our epic love has died a premature death!”

“No, it hasn't. Shut up. Stop that.”

Merlin grins and rubs Arthur's head roughly before kissing his forehead gently.

“Give it some time. Get used to it. I think you'll find it gets a bit better.”

“Maybe. You don't seem surprised.”

“The last time you talked to me about sex you called it yucky and gross and said the mess wasn't worth it. The time before that you said you weren't really all that bothered about it. It's not that surprising.”

“Oh.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: diarrhoea, chronic illness, story in a story character death,

When Arthur's twenty four and three quarters, he stops getting hours at work and is effectively fired, though it's a zero hour contract so he doesn't actually get fired. Mordred gives him a going away card and a promise to invite him to ace events, kisses him on the cheek and pats him on the butt. No one else cares that he's leaving.

When he's twenty five, Merlin gets rid of one roommate (Lance) and trades him in for another (Arthur). They live on top of one another for three months while Arthur searches for a job, working shitty waiting gigs in the meantime. Merlin gets hired to write a regular column for a magazine, and a publisher tells him they're interested in his children's book. The publisher also tells him he can hand in drafts recorded on a voice recorder, so he doesn't have to try and spell things right. Merlin almost cries on the phone with them. 

When he's twenty five, Arthur gives in and asks his father to help him find a job. He ends up at a law-firm owned by a family friend called Olaf, working on the lowest rung of the accounts ladder, and finds himself fending off the advances of Vivian, the over-sexed, over-protected daughter of Olaf. Arthur takes the precaution of telling Olaf that he's very gay and very ace.

He gets paid enough to move out, and Merlin, with the regular income from the column and the advance on his book (small though it is) and his usual income from the bits and pieces he submits everywhere, decides to move, too. They look for a month before deciding to move out of town and invest in commuting. Merlin mostly works from home, and Arthur's job includes a small stipend for the tube, so it feels sensible. They find a small flat in Morden.

“This is the kitchen, that's the living room, the bathroom’s at the end of the hall, and these are bedrooms,” Merlin says, pointing out the doorways. “Mine,” he opens his door, “and Arthur's messy pile of junk.”

Gwen and Elyan both peer curiously into both bedrooms. Elyan rears back from Arthur's.

“Whoa. That's not a room, that's a laundry basket.”

“I would say it's not usually that bad, but it is. At least he mostly eats out here, so there's not dying food in there,” Merlin says, grinning. “To be fair to him, he's got a fever this week so he's been sleeping whenever he's home and hasn't done laundry in a while. It kind of smells worse than usual.”

“I thought his fevers were better?” Gwen says, leading them toward the living room.

Merlin shuts the bedroom doors and goes to put the kettle on. There's a hatch between the kitchen and the living room and a doorway with no door, so he continues the conversation while Elyan and Gwen make themselves at home on the sofa.

“They are. This is the first since the bad one that got him hospitalized,” Merlin says.

Gwen and Elyan drink tea and admire the art on the walls and admire them for having a mostly nice flat in London and making it hospitable and nice. Except Arthur's room. They're still catching up on the gossip of mutual friends when Arthur gets home from work and tries to faceplant on the sofa. He gets Gwen's knee in his eye and topples to the floor, groaning.

“What?” Arthur says. “What?”

“I'm so sorry!” Gwen says, covering her mouth with her hands. “Damn, I'm sorry.”

She gets down on the floor with him and, with a strength belied by her height, lifts Arthur onto the sofa to sit next to Elyan. Arthur looks a bit dazed and flung about, blinking up at her. She cradles his face, holding his chin, and tilts his head to see his eye.

“I think you're going to have a bruise,” Gwen says, “I really am sorry.”

“No need to be,” Arthur says. “I'm the plonker who didn't check. Merlin, why did you not tell me we were having company? It should really be Merlin apologising, Gwen, don't fret.”

“How is it my fault?” Merlin says. “No, don't answer. I don't want to know.”

“Hi, Arthur,” Elyan says. “Nice to see you. How are you doing? We're fine. Gwen's down here for a weekend, and I thought I'd bring her to see you guys and snoop around your swanky new digs while I was about it.”

“Um,” Arthur says, “okay.”

Merlin laughs and goes to make more tea, calling his contributions to the conversation Elyan starts about LGBT-plus politics through the hatch.

“How's being asexual going?” Gwen asks. “Oh my god, I did not mean that the way it sounded. Just, Merlin said you weren't pleased about it, and I just meant... Elyan, why do you take me places?”

“It's for the entertainment,” Elyan says seriously.

Gwen whacks him round the head and shoves him off the sofa, sitting in his place. Elyan settles on the floor.

“It's good, actually,” Arthur says. “I'm liking the lack of pressure. I sometimes think I should, you know, go be, uh, sociable and do something, but nah. Mordred's been great about getting me involved with ace stuff, and Merlin's been taking me to his strange, artsy, queer things, so I've met a few people.”

“Anyone datable?” Gwen says, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“He's currently being aggressively pursued by his boss's daughter,” Merlin says, setting a tray of tea things on the coffee table. “He was proactive about it. Told his boss he's gay and everything.”

“I told him I'm ace, but then realised it might not mean anything to him so added that gay part,” Arthur explains.

“Oh, oh!” Elyan says, spying gossip a mile off. “Tell us, we all know about your sexual attraction and proclivities; namely, none. But what about romantic attraction? Homoromantic? Biromantic? Boringroma- I mean heteromantic?”

“No het shaming! Not all hats!” Gwen says, laughing.

“I never have any idea what you're all talking about,” Arthur grumbles. “Are you asking me if I'm gay?”

“Yeah. You still like people, right? Who do you fancy?” Elyan asks.

Elyan obviously means it in a general, generic way of gay, bi, etc., but Arthur's face goes bright red and lets everyone know that he took it in the other way, of someone specific, and that someone specific has sprung straight to mind.

“Oh, wow,” Elyan says. “This is awesome.”

“Merlin!” Arthur squawks.

“You fancy Merlin?” Gwen asks, gently, shooting Merlin a worried look.

“No! I want him to save me from gossip mongers! Tell us a story or something. Please, please anything but the inquisition.”

“No one expe-” Gwen starts, but Elyan pinches her leg.

“Too easy,” he says.

“True. No pinching, though,” Gwen says and smacks him round the head again, catching his ear with her rings. “Oops.”

“Ow!”

“They're fighting, Merry,” Arthur says.

“All right, all right, I'll tell you a story about Gwen and Sir Elyan.”

Arthur cheers, and Gwen and Elyan grin at each other and settle in for the story. Merlin tells them about the first time Elyan and Gwen meet the dragon, when Elyan escorts Gwen to their mother's grave.

“Our mother's alive,” Elyan protests.

“Yes, but Sir Elyan and Lady Gwenevere's mother is not,” Merlin says. “You do remember that these characters came first, right? We made friends with you because you were the character, not the other way around.”

“Ouch,” Elyan says. “Sorry, Gwennie.”

“He's talking about you, too,” Gwen says

“Nope. No Sir Elyan before you introduced me to Merlin.”

Arthur curls up and uses Gwen's thigh as a pillow, his head acting as a barrier between the two squabbling siblings and keeping things verbal and non-violent. Much easier for Merlin to interrupt. Which he does, talking over them to tell them how Merlin sends Kilgharrah after them because he hears rumours of an assassination attempt and only Kilgharrah can get there fast enough. Arthur falls asleep before the dragon reaches them.

“He looks like a baby when he’s asleep,” Gwen says, looking down at him. “Sweet. Elyan was the sweetest toddler when he slept. After Dad lost his job and Mum took up extra shifts, El used to to sleep in my room. He was so little and soft, baby brown skin and tight-fuzz hair on my pillow. Arthur’s nothing like that, but sweet.”

“I protest,” Elyan says. “I was never sweet.”

He looks pleased, though. 

“Not gonna tell a nice story about me in return?” Gwen says, teasing.

“When Dad started working for that jeweler,” Elyan says, grinning, “and you made me instant noodles for lunch. Actually, that summer, when I was out by the lake and those boys were teasing me. You came pelting down the track and stood on the bank across from us, hands on hips, chin up. ‘He’s my brother,’ you yelled, and they all laughed, but then you started to come around our side, and they ran. That was quite something.”

“Oh,” Gwen says. “That really is a nice story!”

“And then later in the holiday you slapped me in the library because I wouldn’t get the DVD you wanted.”

Arthur stirs slightly as the bickering starts again, but Gwen soothes him, automatic, and Elyan gives her a soft look before retorting to his next point. 

Four months into Arthur's job, one period of sickness taken, Merlin and Arthur get a long holiday weekend off at the same time. They take Arthur's car, still the little one he got when he turned seventeen, and drive to visit Percy, who's living about twenty miles north of where they grew up, teaching primary school kids maths. Arthur falls asleep on the drive up, letting Merlin take the wheel for once, and when he wakes he's groggy and his stomach feels off.

“Damn it,” Arthur says. “I thought it was just the weather changing.”

“Again?” Merlin says.

“It's been five months, Merry,” Arthur says, weary. “Sorry.”

“Come on, let's go inside and tell Percy you need to lie down.”

Arthur's complacent and sleepy until Percy shows them the living room. Then he bolts for the loo (already on their tour). Merlin winces and nudges Percy toward the kitchen.

“I guess he was desperate for a waz. Why didn't he just go when I showed you the bathroom?” Percy says.

“His stomach's off,” Merlin says, grimacing.

“Oh,” Percy says. “Yeah, he said that happened sometimes. Poor little shit. Um. No... uh, pun intended.”

Merlin snorts.

“Arthur takes great delight in talking about 'cuddling the shit' out of people and giving me meaningful looks due to an old conversation,” Merlin says. “I wouldn't worry about it. This is a nice house.”

“Yeah. I'm lucky. It's affordable up here. You must be fucked in London.”

“Your kids know you talk like this?” Merlin says, grinning.

Percy smiles back and moves around the kitchen, setting things out in preparation for lunch.

“Is Arthur likely to eat anything?” Percy asks.

“Probably not. I'm gonna go check on him, if it's okay?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Arthur's standing by the bathroom door frowning, a hand on his belly, when Merlin goes up. Arthur looks at Merlin and grimaces before moving back into the bathroom and closing the door. Merlin waits for him to be done, then gets him settled in the spare room Percy showed them.

“All right?” Merlin asks, rubbing Arthur's back where it gets sore sometimes.

“Yeah. Hate this.”

“Mm. Can't say I'm too fond either. I'm going to ask Percy for something to protect the mattress, just in case.”

“No, don't. I brought a couple of towels. They're in your suitcase.”

“Really? Why?”

“Habitual precautions. I've done it since we went to stay with your uncle Gaius and I had to go ask him for something. Embarrassment is a good, cautious teacher.”

Merlin digs out the towels and lays them under the sheet before helping Arthur settle again. He also finds a thermometer and checks Arthur's temp, but the fever's pretty low grade.

“No wonder you didn't notice, it's barely there,” Merlin says. “You sure you didn't just eat something?”

Arthur just grunts non-committally in reply. It must be something he ate, though, because his stomach's better by the next day, and his fever vanishes by mid-morning. He curls up in Percy's living room and feels sorry for himself, and Percy feeds him plain food and fusses over him.

“You never let me fuss,” Merlin complains when Percy wraps a blanket around Arthur and scoops him out the chair, carrying him over to the sofa instead so he can stretch out.

“Let you tell me stories,” Arthur says, hopeful.

“I've been doing revisions on my novel all week. I'm fed up with storytelling,” Merlin grumps.

“I could tell you about Gwaine,” Percy says.

Merlin and Arthur both stare at him, then at each other, then at him again.

“What will you tell us?” Merlin says.

“He's been driving up, keeping me company on weekends,” Percy says, pinking.

“You poor thing,” Merlin says.

“Why?” Percy says. “Do you know something? Is he... I know he's kind of flaky, but I thought he was a good guy. I haven't seen him much, only met him a couple of times before he started this. He looked me up on Facebook. He seems okay.”

“I don't think I've ever heard you string together that many words in a row.” Arthur says, “Merlin was just meaning ‘Poor you, Gwaine's been subjecting you to his company.’”

“But from that I take it you see it in a whole other light. You like his company!” Merlin says.

“Maybe,” Percy says.

“He is a good guy,” Arthur says. “The best, if you dig deep enough.”

Percy nods, then grins.

“What about you two?” he asks.

“No one,” Merlin says quickly, flushing.

“There is someone,” Arthur says, sitting up. “You didn't tell me! You dark horse, Merlin. You like someone!”

“I don't,” Merlin says, too quickly again. “Anyway, what about you? You with your sneaky crushes.”

“Mine's embarrassing,” Arthur says. “I'm not telling.”

“Mine is too!” Merlin says.

“Well, at least tell us their gender,” Percy says.

“Male,” Merlin and Arthur say at the same time. Percy beams at them both, and Arthur buries his face in the sofa cushions while Merlin buries his face in his knees.

“King Arthur and Merlin the wizard have way better friends than us, Merry,” Arthur complains.

“Why, what does Sir Percival do in such situations?” Percy says.

And that's how Sir Percival ends up marrying Sir Gwaine in Tortuga, on a boat, with Captain Long John Silver officiating and King Arthur and Merlin as witnesses. And that's how Merlin and Arthur end up jumping overboard and swimming for shore rather than admit to who they want to marry themselves.

“I don't even believe in marriage,” King Arthur tells Merlin, wringing sea water out of his clothes.

“Nor do I,” Merlin says. “It's binary, and heterosexual, and religious.”

Arthur and Merlin, when they get back from Percy's, settle into their flat and their life. They fall into patterns with one another and with their jobs, and as Merlin embarks upon his second book, a novel for adults this time, Arthur is startled to discover that Vivian is friends with Elena. He discovers this when he gets to work one morning, a little bit late, and finds both women sitting in his cubicle of an office.

“Ellie!” Arthur says. “Um, hi, Vivian.”

“I see what you mean,” Elena says. “He definitely still thinks you're in love with him.”

“I know, right? And until he stops thinking it, Daddy's going to keep on being a total bastard,” Vivian says.

“We'll fix it,” Elena says. “I promise, my dove.”

With that she sets about enthusiastically kissing Vivian. Arthur gapes at them then goes and sets up his work for the day and ignores them.

“He probably thinks we're lesbians now,” Vivian says.

“Yes, he probably does,” Elena says.

“I'll fix it,” Vivian says, then louder and slower. “We're. Not. Lesbians! Elena. Isn't. A woman!”

“You're not?” Arthur asks, looking up at Elena.

“Not really,” Elena says. “I feel more myself if I'm androgynous.”

“They're even more graceful.”

“Vivian noticed me, when I started outwardly identifying as andro,” Elena says. “We've been friends for years.”

“And now we have the best sex in the world,” Vivian says, smugly.

Vivian leaves in a waft of perfume and smugness and Arthur is left staring at Elena.

“Is this new?” he asks.

“A couple of months. I've felt it a long time, though. I came out about four months ago. And Viv noticed.”

“I must say I'm very grateful that neither of you fancy me anymore,” Arthur says.

“Arthur! I didn't think you knew about that. I thought you fancied me back, at first. But you never went anywhere with all of it.”

“I didn't know then, or I wouldn't have flirted, and I did kind of fancy you I just wasn't interested in doing anything about it,” Arthur says. “I didn't know then, but I'm ace.”

“Wow,” Elena says, “that makes so much sense.”

“I know.”

“Do you have anyone?”

“No. Everyone's pairing off, but no.”

“Leon's still happily single, straight and heterosexual,” Elena says, “as is Morgana, who you never speak to by the way. And Gwen, Elyan, Lance-”

“Okay, okay, you keep in better touch than me, I get it. Come for dinner one night. We can catch up.”

“Is this your way of politely kicking me out?”

“I'm supposed to be working. For your girlfriend's father, I might add.”

“Right. Dinner. Text me the address, and I'll come on Friday?”

“Sounds good. Merlin can cook.”

Elena starts to move out of the office, and Vivian's right; there's much more grace there now.

“Ellie,” Arthur says, “hang on. What are your pronouns? And do you still want to be Elena?”

“Ellie and Elena, they're fine. I use they. I find it easiest. Thank you for asking. That was really nice.”

“Merlin's taught me a few things,” Arthur admits, “and his friends have taught me a few more.”

Elena smiles at him and leaves. This time they reach the door without Arthur saying anything. Once they're gone, Arthur dives for his phone and calls Merlin.

The warrior spins, already dropping before a full circle, moving with the momentum to come up, sword flashing. The magic along the blade cuts right through the white knight's armour, cleaving his side. The warrior ducks away, quick feet, fast hands, then comes back for another attack.

“If I write Elena as female are they going to be upset?” Merlin asks Arthur, leaning on the doorway.

“Probably,” Arthur says, “why?”

“It's not really Ellie, just a character who recalls them a little,” Merlin says, “started off as a woman.”

“You could change it.”

“Mm. Maybe. Yeah, I'll do that,” Merlin says.

After dinner on Friday he tells them bits of the story, the mystery warrior who moves from kingdom to kingdom defeating all the men who take lands and rule them with villainy.

“The main baddy is the White Knight,” Merlin says, “and the warrior never shows themself so people assume they're a woman, because of that trope in fantasy, but in the end they tell the world that they are not, they have no binary gender.”

“Is this another kids' book?” Ellie asks, tucking their feet under themself. “It sounds awesome.”

“It's just a short story I'm contributing to an anthology. I might write something else with the character, though. They're pretty nice to write.”

Arthur smiles and sips his coffee, eyes on Merlin, enjoying his enthusiasm.

“Merlin, speaking of stories,” Ellie says, setting their own coffee on the table, “I don't know if this is silly, but, you know the epic you tell Arthur when he's sick?”

“I know it,” Merlin says.

“The Elena in that. She's female, and she's awesome, but... she's not me anymore. I feel like she's someone I want to say goodbye to, and I wondered... I wondered if you'd kill her off for me.”

“I could just change her gender identity,” Merlin says.

“No. I want, I think I want to give her a funeral, allow her to remain a woman.”

“In that case, of course I will,” Merlin says. “Do you want me to do it now?”

“No, no. Just, next time you tell the story, let me know.”

“Will do,” Merlin says, “of course. Anything, of course.”

“That was emotional,” Arthur says, setting his empty cup on the table and stretching.

“You're so constipated, Arthur Pendragon,” Elena says, kicking him gently, “emotionally. The... what is Hermione tells Ron? Just because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon doesn't mean everyone else does! Or something like that. You never change, do you? Does King Arthur change, in the story?”

“Nope,” Merlin says, “stubborn as a mule.”

“Bastards,” Arthur says agreeably, wandering to the kitchen with the mugs.

Elena's funeral comes three weeks later, Arthur sweating into the sofa, Elena on speaker phone listening in. Merlin has her die in the heat of battle, protecting Sir Lancelot, and has her death bring an end to the war that had been raging throughout the land since the beginning. Not a true and complete end, but a tentative peace that gets sealed by her blood into a magical contract that cannot be broken.

Sir Lancelot weeps as her boat sails down past Camelot, and Sir Percival sends a burning arrow to bury itself among her flowers. The scent of lilac and lavender fills the air as she floats down to the sea, the only sound Lady Gwenevere's voice raised in lamenting song, Lancelot weeping and the prayers of the knights and ladies of Camelot.

“Sorry,” Arthur says. “I'm gonna be sick.”

He staggers to the bathroom, Elena laughs a snuffling laugh over the phone, and Merlin picks up their call.

“Was that all right?” he asks, “I know it was a bit... it was always supposed to be a children's story. The deaths are always like that.”

“It was great, really, don't apologise,” Ellie says. “Thank you. I feel much better about that now. About letting go of being a woman, which means a lot to a lot of people. It was hard to, just, let that go.”

“I'm glad I could help,” Merlin says, distracted by Arthur's return. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, “false alarm.”

“I'll let you go,” Ellie says, “thanks, though, really. Thank you. And can you thank Arthur for lending me his story?”

“I will.”

Merlin brushes Arthur's hair off his forehead and feels for the familiar heat.

“I heard,” Arthur says, “my story, huh?”

“Always.”

“Hmm.”

“Always. I mean it,” Merlin says, sounding amazed, “forever. Me and you, King Arthur and his wizard. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Arthur, I'm trying to tell you I love you.”

“I know that.”

“As in the person I've had an embarrassing crush on for the past million months is you.”

Arthur's eyes blink open, and he stares at Merlin, a slow smile spreading over his face.

“I'm not joking,” Merlin says. “I don't know why I told you. I was feeling emotional. It's Ellie's fault. Them getting together with their childhood friend, their letting go of something they had felt essential to them. All their fault.”

“I'm not laughing at you,” Arthur murmurs. “I'm pleased. I'm agreeing. About it being Ellie's fault and about forever. My secret crush was you, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I felt silly. I'd known you for so long and never really... and then... it was a bit embarrassing.”

“I know! Like, everyone's gonna think we're such idiots and wasted so much time!”

“Wasn't like that,” Arthur says.

“Obviously, but people are dumbos.”

“Plonkers.”

“Exactly.”

“What about sex?”

“Perhaps we should have that conversation when you're not burning up, hmm? And about to vom on me,” Merlin says, getting up too fast and tripping over the coffee table in an attempt to escape the vomit he predicts just in time.

It hits the carpet instead of Merlin. For once.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winding things up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: vomiting, chronic illness, nerves, explicit talk about sexual acts, fear of abandonment, child neglect

Arthur throws up for a day, is feverish for three, and sickly for two more. He takes the whole week off work and goes back Monday. While Arthur's ill, he and Merlin fall into the old pattern of affection, bickering and caring, and their newly discovered relationship is put on hold. During the week, Arthur works late to make up for his week off, and Merlin gets bogged down with his magazine job. It's not until Friday that he and Merlin really have any significant time together.

 

They sit side by side on the sofa, and an awkwardness slowly grows between them and spreads, until Merlin's shifting and jiggering nervously, and Arthur's still as a statue, staring unseeing at the TV, holding himself so tight and self contained. Merlin's leg bounces on, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the arm of the sofa, his toes twitching against the carpet, his body constantly moving. Arthur's arm snakes out, sudden from his previous stillness, lands heavy on Merlin's thigh and squeezes.

 

“Stop,” Arthur says.

 

Merlin stills, then his leg bounces again.

 

“Sorry! I can't help it! This is so weird!”

 

Arthur turns his head, the stone-stillness cracking around him, and looks at Merlin. Merlin looks back, eyebrows raised. Arthur raises an eyebrow in return and the stone breaks further, leaving laughter in it's wake. Merlin covers his mouth, bends over his knees and gives way to peels of laughter, too. Arthur holds Merlin's thigh, and they bend toward one another with the force of their amusement.

 

“Oh,” Merlin huffs, getting hold of himself, “Jeeze, mate, what is wrong with us?”

 

“Usually when I'm well, we put distance between us,” Arthur observes a little stiffly, hand still on Merlin's thigh.

 

“Because you're a prat who doesn't like being babied,” Merlin says, nodding. “So?”

 

“I guess we... um, I don't know, Merlin!”

 

“Me either.”

 

“We should talk?”

 

“About?”

 

“Um, feelings?”

 

“Feelings.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They both sit staring at the TV again, Merlin chewing his lips, Arthur's hand squeezing Merlin's thigh again.

 

“Right,” Merlin says, “not feelings, then. Obviously we have none.”

 

“Exactly. No feelings. Good. Maybe...” Arthur takes a deep breath and looks carefully away, “I am not entirely comfortable around you, with our new status, as it were, because I am not sure about boundaries and do not want to start something I will not wish to finish. I apologise.”

 

Merlin covers his mouth to keep from laughing. Arthur doesn't notice, luckily. Merlin bites his lip again.

 

“Are we talking about sex?” Merlin asks.

 

“Yeah. And other... touches.”

 

“Like squishing my thigh?” Merlin asks, grinning, and Arthur snatches his hand away, ears flushing a violent crimson which spreads down over his neck. “Sorry, I was teasing you.”

 

“Arse.”

 

“You want to talk about boundaries? I suppose. Um.”

 

“I don't want to go too far by accident.”

 

“You can always stop anything, Arthur,” Merlin says, softening his voice a little, not looking at Arthur to give him privacy. “Even if we're in the middle of something I like. If I want to carry on, and you don't, you just say so, and we stop.”

 

“It feels like an obligation. Once I begin, I must finish.”

 

“I guess that's how the world supposes things work. But, here, with us, no. Same goes for me. I ask you to stop, you stop, right?”

 

“Yeah, but I'm not gonna be left high and dry.”

 

“Neither am I, if you stop before you get uncomfortable. That way you won't panic and run off, and we can talk about what next step would be comfortable, and if there is none, then I can always take care of myself, you know.”

 

“Mph. Does this... this, with us, does it mean you're going be celibate the rest of your life? Or am I going to have to do... uh, sex. With you. I can, I mean, I've had sex before. If that's... needed.”

 

“No, you prat! I don't enjoy having sex with people who don't like it! Stop doing that. No, I'm not going to be celibate, no, you don't have to have sex, yes, I am willing to make this exclusive with you and not go elsewhere for sex.”

 

“Then, how?”

 

“Well, depends what you're comfortable with and want. A few suggestions off the top of my head would be, uh, mutual masturbation, where you can do whatever you like. Depends how you want me looking at you. I would have no trouble getting off to thinking about you, seeing you. You're hot, Arthur.”

 

“I, I can live with that. Maybe we can... maybe, like, there will be times when you can find me sexy and, you know, get off to it? Don't mind you finding me, uh, sexy.”

 

“I do. So, I could wank to you, you could put on a show. You can touch me, however you like, however you're comfortable with. Kissing? There's a lot to sex that's not overtly sexual. I dunno, I like sensual stuff. It'll take ages to go through all this and it will take exploration. With both of us. I can't just tell you how it'll work because I don't know yet.”

 

“Okay. I like kissing, but not when it's leading somewhere else. It makes me uncomfortable when it gets... onwards, like.”

 

Merlin grins and looks back at Arthur. Arthur looks at his knees and breathes deep again.

 

“I like your body, I think. It's beautiful. Your skin and freckles, the mark on your back. The way your bones show, and the muscles. I would like... to touch you,” Arthur says.

 

“And I might get off on it? Would that be uncomfortable?”

 

“Not sure. I don't think I'll mind, uh, getting you off sometimes. Not, not stuff that involves me. But, touching just for that, for you, and, like, maybe handjobs.”

 

“Cool. I like handjobs. And I can totally get behind making stuff that I have often thought of as foreplay being non-sexual. Though I can't promise not to respond physically to certain things, I can totally change the way I think of things like kissing.”

 

“I like affectionate stuff,” Arthur says.

 

“Me, too. I think if we talk any more about this right now, though, you're gonna blow up and turn into popcorn or something, though. You look about ten seconds from critical pressure.”

 

Arthur nods. His body's gone stiff again, hands gripping his knees. Merlin reaches out slowly so Arthur sees it coming and rests his hand on Arthur's back. Arthur stays stiff for a moment, then starts to relax in increments. As he does, Merlin rubs his hand across Arthur's shoulders, up and down his back, eventually cupping his head and turning it so they're looking at one another.

 

“I love you,” Merlin says.

 

“I promise to be as understanding when you have your freakout,” Arthur says.

 

“You better, because I'm sure it's on its way.”

 

“Your freakouts are epic. I love you, too, by the way.”

 

“Good. Then, if you would like, I am going to kiss you.”

 

Arthur nods, titling his head, lips parting a little. Merlin shifts forward a little awkwardly, holds Arthur's head still and leans in. The kiss is gentle and warm, and Arthur sighs against Merlin's lips. Merlin pulls back, and Arthur immediately sits up and switches so he's the one kissing Merlin. Merlin's cheek is cupped by Arthur's hand, his head goes back a little for a better angle, and he lets Arthur guide him.

 

“I like that,” Arthur says, pulling away. “You?”

 

“Yeah. That's, that's good. See? This exploration and going slow thing isn't so bad. Much, much more fun that talking.”

 

“I am more of a doer than a thinker. I thought we should be grownups and talk, but you're right. Let's be grownups and just try things out.”

 

“Just remember to leave the lines of communication open,” Merlin says.

 

They exchange a few more kisses and then Merlin pulls Netflix up on the TV and goes back to the series he had wanted to watch tonight. They sit side by side again and the awkwardness begins, but this time Arthur, ever the doer, slumps back and tugs Merlin against his side.

 

“Relax,” he mutters, and Merlin does, leaning into Arthur's body.

 

Merlin's working the weekend, writing a submission for an anthology competition, but he takes Sunday afternoon off, and he and Arthur drive out into Surrey and take a long walk. Arthur holds Merlin's hand sometimes, and Merlin links their arms going up the hills. They stand and look at London, trying to spot the Shard, wander around getting lost, end up at the wrong car park and have to walk a further two miles. Arthur makes friends with a dog when they stop for lunch, and Merlin makes friends with the dog's owner, a woman called Freya who Merlin exchanges numbers with, the idea of walking together when Merlin needs a break from writing the inspiration for that.

 

They get home late and tired, and Merlin kicks off his shoes, Arthur at his back muttering about how badly he wants a big stodgy bag of chips. They move through to the living room and collapse side by side on the sofa.

 

“Are you going for chips?” Arthur asks pointedly.

 

“Nope,” Merlin says, “not moving for a week.”

 

“But my chips,” Arthur says, elbow nudging at Merlin's ribs.

 

“Get off, you prat. Go get your own chips if you want them that badly.”

 

Arthur does, heaving himself up and inching slowly back out. Merlin watches him go, ignoring the looks back at him. At last the door shuts at Arthur's back.

 

When Arthur returns, chippy bag hot and wafting good smells through the house, Merlin's stood by the window, lights still off, staring at the street. He turns to face Arthur, eyes big and wide. Arthur puts the bag down and approaches slowly, suspicious.

 

“What?” Arthur says.

 

“We're dating. I'm going out with the boy I've known since I was seven. You're my _boyfriend_.”

 

Arthur smiles and he nods, reaching for Merlin's hand. Merlin snatches it away and holds it up, examining his own fingers and palm.

 

“Arthur, me and you are dating! This is a disaster. What are we thinking? We'll ruin everything. We're not the type to date each other! We both suck at dating!”

 

“Maybe not this time, seeing as we already know we like each other,” Arthur says.

 

“No, no, this is a disaster. What are we going to tell my Mum? Oh no, Arthur, your father! What are we going tell Uther? He thinks you're nice and straight and going to give him grandchildren. He's going to be furious.”

 

“Probably,” Arthur says, shrugging. “Father's been furious with me since I decided to study accountancy instead of business and not work for him. Actually, he's been furious since I decided to do politics, maths and science instead of business at a-levels.”

 

“Arthur! This is worse than studying the wrong thing! This is a big 'Screw you, Uther'!”

 

“Mmhmm. He'll live.”

 

“Whatever. Your father aside, what about the rest of it? You and me. We're hopeless! We don't talk about feelings, or, or stuff. We're crap at communicating. We're so bad at communicating you punched Gwaine and nearly broke his nose!”

 

“I was seven.”

 

“You were eight,” Merlin scoffs, waving his hand, “and it doesn't matter. You haven't got better. Okay, example. Tell me what you're feeling right this second.”

 

“A little confused, a little irritated. Hungry.”

 

“Don't be glib.”

 

“Okay, sorry. I am confused, though. Where's this coming from?”

 

“From the place of logic and sound reasoning,” Merlin says.

 

“Uh-huh. Because it sounds more like it's coming from the crazy place that is your brain.”

 

“My brain is Vulcan levels of logical, you berk.”

 

“Come on, what's going on? Tell me what's wrong.”

 

Arthur sits on the sofa and starts digging around in the chip bag. Merlin scowls, takes the bag and throws it across the room.

 

“We're going to fail. We're going to hate each other. I already hate you right now. We're going to fight, and you'll yell at me and throw things at me, and I'll hate you, and you'll hate me. We'll drive each other crazy, and it won't work and, and, you'll cheat with a lovely ace person you meet when you're at Mordred's things, and I'll hate you and resent you, and you'll cheat more and more, going to curl up on someone else's sofa instead of mine, hugging other people, kissing other people, loving people not me. Emotional cheating, too, and when you are here, you won't really be here. And then you'll leave, and I'll lose you.”

 

Merlin gasps for breath, panting, chest heaving. His eyes spark with tears. Arthur gapes at him.

 

“I'll lose you, and then it'll just be me,” Merlin says.

 

Arthur tries to say something, but then closes his mouth, getting to his feet instead, facing Merlin.

 

“I'm so scared of you leaving me alone,” Merlin whispers, hoarse and desperate. “I'm so careful. I don't baby you. I try to be the perfect friend. I don't want you to go.”

 

Arthur puts his arms around Merlin and pulls him close. Merlin's trembling, but he presses close to Arthur's chest, face burying in Arthur's shoulder and neck.

 

“Shh,” Arthur says, “I'm not leaving you.”

 

Merlin starts to cry, fingers catching awkwardly in Arthur's shirt.

 

“Lines of communication,” Arthur says, “remember? That goes for you too. You have to tell me these things. How long have you been holding back? Merlin, ah, you stupid fuck. We won't fail, we won't. I won't let that happen. I love you too much to let myself get in our way. I promise.”

 

Merlin curls closer, body giving to Arthur's strength. Arthur stops talking and resorts to physical comfort until Merlin's breathing eases and the hard sobs slow to easier tears.

 

“I wanted for so long,” Merlin says, shuddering breath and body, “I wanted for so long to be this with you, even when you weren't ill. To touch you and know you and love you.”

 

“I can live with that, Merry. You can love me as much as you like. I can live with that.”

 

Merlin cries quietly for a bit longer. Arthur lifts him off his feet and lays him on the sofa, then goes to get his chips and gets under Merlin's head, so it's pillowed on his thigh. He sets the warm bag against Merlin's side, pulls out his chips and sets them on the arm of the sofa. He turns on the TV and puts the news on quietly. Then he eats his dinner and lets Merlin have his breakdown curled in warm and safe, Arthur's hand stroking his hair.

 

“I should do this for you more often,” Arthur says, when Merlin's breath is slow and even.

 

“I'm fine.”

 

“Sure. I know that. Still nice, though, right? You can always come to me for this.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Course. Just come curl up with me, and I'll look after you just fine, yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Even if it's stupid?”

 

“Especially if it's stupid! Who else is going to put up with you throwing their dinner around? You've got some cold-ish food in that bag by the way, if you want it, and my sausage is at the bottom. I couldn't get it without disturbing you.”

 

Merlin roots around in the bag and waves Arthur's sausage in the air for Arthur to grab.

 

“I love you,” Arthur says, “and, just so you know, I am very much looking forward to telling my father that I am ace and possibly homoromantic, possibly biromantic, possibly just Merlin-romantic, and I'm never having children. It's going to be especially epic. I'll take Gwaine with me for the later blow-by-blow commentary.”

 

“Good idea.”

 

“You can come if you want, but you probably would prefer to visit your Mum and have dinner with me and Gwaine later, hear the amusing version. Not be subject to the painful, real life version.”

 

“I'm sorry your Dad's a bit of a shit, Arthur.”

 

“He is that. I love him, and he loves me a lot, and he was sometimes good to me.”

 

“Yeah. He's still a shit. He left you alone in the house when you were sick, before he had Mum to call at the last minute. I know he did. He left you alone in that room for days on end. Gorlois once told Mum and I overheard. He ignored you, and I don't like him much.”

 

“Neither do I. He frightens me, too, you know. But I'll tell him, and he can be part of my life on my terms, and he's not a threat, okay?”

 

“I know.”

 

“Good. So let's watch something more interesting than the news.”

 

Merlin flops onto his other side so he can see the TV and tucks into his chips and onion rings, still curled up against Arthur. Arthur gets sausage batter in his hair and doesn't tell him.

 

“It was a dramatic start,” Arthur tells Lance, months later.

 

Arthur's lying on Lance's sofa, crashing there while Merlin's out of town doing book signings and reading to publicise the first novel. Arthur's only at Lance's because he's been feeling shit, and Merlin had rung to tell him that if he was ill at home on his own next time Merlin spoke to him, Merlin was going to stop cooking him a chicken roast on Sundays.

 

“I've heard a bit about it from Merlin,” Lance says, tossing a blanket Arthur's way. “Do you have a fever yet?”

 

“Nah, just chills. Tonight, probably, it'll go up. Hopefully it's just a small one, like usual.”

 

“I'll check on you if I get up in the night. Dramatic start, but what about now? Are you both happy?”

 

“Yes, I think so. I'm happy,” Arthur says, wrapping the blanket around himself and pulling the duvet over the top, snuggling down. “I think Merlin is. He's stressed right now, so it's hard to tell, but I think underneath the stress he's happy.”

 

“Good.”

 

Arthur nods and yawns.

 

Merlin calls it a rocky start, when he talks to Gwen. She's more interested in evidence that they cuddle and hearing all the “cute cute cute” stories about them sharing clothes and Arthur insisting on walking hand in hand and Merlin trying to persuade Arthur to get a dog by taking him to play with puppies at the shelter.

 

“You two are adorable!”

 

“But don't you think a dog's a good idea? I can look after it. I work mostly from home, and the rest is flexible stuff. And Arthur can have company when he's home sick, this way,” Merlin says, focussing on the point at hand.

 

“Merlin?” Arthur says, home from work early. “Are you badgering more people about your dog idea?”

 

“Just Gwen!” Merlin calls, letting his head fall back on the sofa to watch Arthur wander in.

 

Arthur kisses his nose, then his lips, then takes the phone.

 

“I'll never give in,” he says.

 

“Okay,” Gwen says, “but are you wearing the socks Merlin gave you right now? To replace the ones he accidentally stole?”

 

“Uh, no?”

 

“Do you have a photo of him on your desk at work?”

 

“Kind of?” Arthur says.

 

Gwen squeals, and Arthur rolls his eyes, dumping the phone back in Merlin's lap and going to look for food.

 

“He has a photo of him making me eat a worm from when we were nine,” Merlin says. “It was a dare. It's not cute.”

 

“That's even better!” Gwen says happily. “By the way, you need to pass a message on to Arthur from Morgana; if he doesn't call her, she's gonna come castrate him.”

 

“Right. I'll let him know about his imminent orchidectomy.”

 

“Morgana after me again?” Arthur asks, poking his head and shoulders through the hatch. “Tell Gwen I sent Morgana an email yesterday inviting her to come stay. Oh, and by the way, I invited Morgana to come visit us.”

 

Merlin gives Arthur the finger, but passes the message on. Morgana, when she descends on them, brings Leon with her, and there's confusion as Arthur tries to work out what's going on, kiss Morgana's cheek and hug Leon all at the same time. Merlin gets squished between Arthur and Morgana, and Arthur laughs, squishing him more and hugging him instead.

 

“We're not dating,” Leon says. “I just bumped into Morgana, and we hit it off, and she said she was coming here and pretty much kidnapped me.”

 

“I did,” Morgana says, kissing Arthur's cheek over Merlin's head. “I did kidnap him. How are you?”

 

“I'm good,” Arthur says, letting Merlin go and hugging Morgana instead, “pretty good. Work's good, home's good, love life's excellent.”

 

Leon finally gets his hug, and there's more chaos as Arthur and Merlin try to find out what he's been doing since they saw him.

 

“Three years!” Arthur says, for the hundredth time, half an hour later. “I can't believe it's been three years, Leon. What were you thinking?”

 

“I was thinking about becoming a doctor, you idiot,” Leon says. “I've not been in London for a while. I've been doing foundation training, and I'm starting specialty soon.”

 

“That's awesome,” Merlin says.

 

“Yeah. I'm doing paediatrics, which I love.”

 

Morgana butts in then with her own life updates. By the time they get dinner, Arthur's beaming like a fool, Merlin's bouncing around like a rabbit on speed, and everyone's still talking over each other. Merlin suddenly claps his hand over Arthur's mouth and holds the other up.

 

“Quiet, quiet!” Merlin says. “I have news! Shh!”

 

Morgana and Leon stop bickering, and Arthur licks Merlin's hand but then catches it and kisses Merlin's knuckles.

 

“You two are sweet,” Leon says, smiling wide and silly.

 

“We are,” Merlin says, “but he's just being annoying right now. I want to tell you! I have a new job. I'm writing a regular review of new kids' books, for the magazine I do the column for, and I still get to do my column. And I've been approached by a publisher for my adult novel.”

 

“Excellent,” Arthur says, “and to top it off, you have the best boyfriend in the world.”

 

Leon 'aww's, Morgana throws her bread at Arthur's head, and Merlin laughs wildly as he finds Arthur's tickles spots.

 

“But you do get off?” Gwaine asks Merlin.

 

They're lying in Hunith's garden after the Telling Uther Debacle. Arthur's in the swing seat, a cold cloth over his eyes for a headache, head on Merlin's thigh. Gwaine's lying in the grass beside them.

 

“None of your business you arsehole,” Arthur says. “You're making my headache worse.”

 

“I just went and did father-corralling with you. You promised me three questions to satisfy my curious nature,” Gwaine says.

 

“I did do that, Merry, sorry,” Arthur says.

 

“And I suppose I have to answer?”

 

“Mm,” Arthur says.

 

“Fine. Yes, I get to get off. I refuse to tell you any more detail.”

 

“Great! Okay, next question. I promise this one's easier. Do you guys kiss?”

 

“You've seen us kiss,” Arthur says, waving a hand around trying to hit Gwaine.

 

“Have not,” Gwaine says.

 

Merlin leans over Arthur and kisses him.

 

“Now you have,” Merlin says. “Last question?”

 

“Does it work? With an ace person? Does it work not having sex? Isn't it frustrating as hell?”

 

“Can be. Any relationship gets frustrating, G,” Merlin says. “There's a whole lot about it that's annoying, but the sex is actually pretty low on the list. We make it work, and it's worth it. There's a lot about a relationship that isn't sex. We have all of that.”

 

“It can work, then?” Gwaine asks.

 

“What has your knickers in a twist?” Arthur grumbles. “Spit it out.”

 

“Just, Perce never seems much interested any more,” Gwaine admits. “I guess it's just a phase or something.”

 

“Communication is how we make it work,” Arthur says, “it truly sucks, because we're both pretty useless. We have these monthly check-ins, which are just horrendously awkward. It helps, though. Got that channel, if we need it. Usually we end up eating chips and pretending it never happened.”

 

“Maybe,” Gwaine says. “I guess I could talk to him.”

 

“Yeah, instead of asking us insulting questions,” Merlin says.

 

He isn't annoyed, though, and when he kicks Gwaine it's gentle.

 

Elena has no questions. They just hug Arthur and Merlin, both, when they next see them, and then tells Arthur and Merlin all about their own relationship. They do tell Arthur that it's sweet when Arthur puts a hand in the small of Merlin's back and Merlin automatically wraps his arm around Arthur's waist in reaction.

 

Elyan is entirely uninterested in their love life when he gets back from Chile. He just nudges between them when they walk hand in hand and tells them more stories, enthusiasm rolling off him. Gwen doesn't like that he travels so much, but Merlin and Arthur both tell her how he loves it, and she grumbles instead of shouting.

 

Arthur gets a cough in the November when Merlin turns twenty seven, and it brings on a flare-up that has him stuck in the bathroom for three days, moaning about how much his mouth hurts. After the fifth day, he's lying in their bed (Merlin's old room, the smaller of the two, converted into an office now), mouth open, drooling onto the pillow. Merlin's trying to get him to drink.

 

“Hur's,” Arthur slurs, turning his head away.

 

“I know, but you still have to drink. Let me use the spray, you haven't thrown up in a day, so it shouldn't make you retch.”

 

“Fi'e.”

 

“I'll get you another lolly, too. I suppose frozen juice is better than nothing.”

 

Merlin gets the spray and the lolly, and Arthur sucks on it obediently, mouth numb. Merlin even persuades him to drink a little, when the lolly's gone.

 

“You're eating tomorrow,” Merlin says. “And I need you to have some of the cold broth tonight. You won't get better otherwise.”

 

Arthur doesn't agree or disagree. In the end, it takes the spray and another lolly before Arthur will take a few sips of the broth. It's clear and thin and the only thing Arthur's been able to bear for most of the week.

 

“Hu'rs,” Arthur says, pretty much all he's willing to say at the moment, when he's done.

 

“I know,” Merlin says, stroking his hair. “This sucks.”

 

Arthur coughs, and Merlin gets into bed and curls up with him. He feeds Arthur some over-puréed soup the next day, and the day after that Arthur's less weak and more able to complain, through moans and groans. He eats a lot of ice lollies.

 

“I' 'ored,” Arthur says, mouth moving carefully to avoid his tongue touching the uclers.

 

“Can't do anything about that,” Merlin says.

 

He's sitting on his side of the bed typing up his review for the week. He's late with his column as well, and he has to get both in to the editor tonight or she'll give his spot to someone else for the week. Arthur moans and flops over, pressing his face to the pillow. Merlin looks down in time to see Arthur drop the spoilt little boy act and wince, covering his mouth with a hand as if that'll help. The ulcers are bigger, and there are more of them than there have been since he was a kid. Merlin knows he's uncomfortable and in pain.

 

“All right,” Merlin says. “Let me finish these. Give me half an hour and then I will resurrect your story for you. We'll see where Arthur and his knights are after years away.”

 

Arthur nods, satisfied, and curls up to wait. Merlin's mind runs wild thinking up new scenarios and storylines, filling in the gap. He tries to focus on his work, but he knows it's not his best. He sends it off anyway, expecting a lot of notes, and pulls Arthur's head into his lap so he can massage his neck and head, down over his shoulder, while he speaks.

 

“The golden age of King Arthur's rule had been running for five years,” Merlin starts. “The king sits at council with his trusted knights and advisers. The wizard Merlin races through the castle checking on preparations for a feast later. The lady Gwenevere is at Arthur's right hand, Sir Lancelot at his left. All is well and prosperous, and the people are content. The only dark spot is the priestess, Morgana, a dark evil who has moved in the land and introduced chaos.”

 


End file.
